X 


I 


S.  EDWIN  CORI/E,  JR. 


I 


SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

By  Clarence  Budingtan  Kettand 


BOOKS  BY 
CLARENCE  BUDINGTON  KELLAND 

SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

YOUTH  CHALLENGES 

EFFICIENCY  EDGAR 

CATTY  ATKINS 

THE  HIDDEN  SPRING 

THE  HIGHFLYERS 

THE  LITTLE  MOMENT  OF  HAPPINESS 

MARK  TIDD  ~~ 

MARK  TIDD  IN  BUSINESS  - 

MARK  TIDD'S   CITADEL 

MARK    TIDD.   EDITOR 

MARK  TIDD,   MANUFACTURER 

MARK  TIDD  IN  THE  BACKWOODS 

THE  SOURCE 

SUDDEN  JIM 

THIRTY  PIECES  OF  SILVER 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,   NEW  YORK 

[ESTABLISHED  1817] 


SCATTERGOOD    BAINES 


SCATTERGOOD 
BAINES 

By 
Clarence  Budington  Kelland 

Author  of 

"YOUTH  CHALLENGES"  "THE  HIGH  FLYERS" 
"THE  LITTLE  MOMENT  OF  HAPPINESS"  ETC. 


Harper   &    Brothers    Publishers 
New    York    and    London 


SCATTEBGOOD   BAINBS 

Copyright.  1931,  by  Harper  &  Brother! 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PS 


CONTENTS 


COAP.  PAGE 

I.  HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  ...........  1 

II.  SCATTERGOOD   KlCKS  UP  THE   DUST    .......  26 

III.  THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTEEQOOD  .....  54 

IV.  HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING    .........  81 

V.  HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS  ........  102 

VI.  INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE    .......  125 

VII.  HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER     ........  143 

VIII.  HE  DIPS  IN  His  SPOON  ...........  165 

IX.  HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP    .......  181 

X.  HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK      ......  199 

XI.  HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  .    .........  215 

XII.  THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD      .........  239 

XIII.  HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT   ........  258 

XIV.  HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE  ........  278 


SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 


SCATTERGOOD   BAINES 


CHAPTER  I 

HE    INVADES    COLDRIVER 

THE  entrance  of  Scattergood  Baines  into  Coldriver 
Valley,  and  the  manner  of  his  first  taking  root  in  its 
soil,  are  legendary.  This  much  is  clear  past  even  disput- 
ing in  the  post  office  at  mail  time,  or  evenings  in  the 
grocery — he  walked  in,  perspiring  profusely,  for  he  was 
very  fat. 

It  is  asserted  that  he  walked  the  full  twenty-four  miles 
from  the  railroad,  subsisting  on  the  country,  as  it  were, 
and  sagged  down  on  the  porch  of  Locker's  grocery  just 
before  sundown.  It  is  not  implied  that  he  walked  all  of  the 
twenty-four  miles  in  that  single  day.  Huge  bodies  move 
deliberately. 

He  sagged  down  on  Locker's  porch,  and  it  is  reported 
the  corner  of  the  porch  sagged  with  him.  George  Peddie 
has  it  from  his  grandfather,  who  was  an  eyewitness, 
that  Scattergood  did  not  so  much  as  turn  his  head  to 
look  at  the  assembled  manhood  of  the  vicinity,  but  with 
infinite  pains  and  audible  grunts,  succeeded  in  bringing 
first  one  foot,  then  the  other,  within  reach  of  his  hands, 
and  removed  his  shoes.  Following  this  he  sighed  with  a 
great  contentment  and  twiddled  his  bare  toes  openly 
and  flagrantly  in  the  eyes  of  all  Coldriver. 


2  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

He  is  said  now  to  have  uttered  the  first  words  to  fall 
from  his  mouth  in  the  town  where  were  to  lie  his  life's 
unfoldings  and  fulfillments.  They  were  significant — in 
the  light  of  subsequent  activities. 

"  One  of  them  railroads  runnin'  up  here,"  said  he  to  the 
mountain  just  across  the  road  from  him,  "would  have 
spared  me  close  to  a  dozen  blisters." 

Conversation  had  expired  on  Scattergood's  arrival,  and 
the  group  on  the  porch  converted  itself  into  an  audience. 
It  was  an  audience  that  got  its  money's  worth.  Not  for 
an  instant  did  the  attention  of  a  single  member  of  it 
stray  away  from  this  Godsend  come  to  furnish  them  with 
their  first  real  topic  of  conversation  since  Crazy  French 
stole  a  box  of  Paris  green,  mistaking  it  for  a  new  sort  of 
pancake  flour. 

Scattergood  arose  ponderously  and  limped  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  dusty  road.  From  this  vantage  point  he 
slowly  and  conscientiously  studied  the  village. 

"Uh-huh!"  he  said.  "'Twouldn't  pay  to  do  all  that 
walkin'  just  for  a  visit.  Calc'late  I'll  have  to  settle." 

He  walked  directly  back  to  the  absorbed  group  of  lead- 
ing citizens,  his  shoes  dangling,  one  in  each  hand,  and 
addressed  them  genially. 

"Your  town,"  said  he,  "is  growin'.  Its  population 
jest  increased  by  me." 

"Sizable  growth,"  said  Old  Man  Penny,  dryly,  letting 
his  eye  rove  over  Scattergood's  bulk. 

"My  line,"  said  Scattergood,  "is  anythin'  needful. 
Outside  of  a  railroad,  what  you  figger  you  need  most?  " 

Nobodj  answered. 

"Is  it  a  grocery  store?"  asked  Scattergood. 

Locker  stiffened  in  his  chair.  "Me  and  Sam  Kittleman 
calc'lates  to  sell  all  the  groceries  this  town  needs,"  he  said. 

"How  about  dry  goods?"  said  Scattergood. 

Old  Man  Penny  and  Wade  Lumley  stirred  to  life  at  this. 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  3 

"Lumley  and  me  takes  care  of  the  dry  goods,"  said  the 
old  man. 

"Uh-huh!    How  about  a  clothin'  store?" 

"We  got  all  the  clothin'  stores  there's  room  for,"  said 
LafeAtwell.  "I  run  it." 

"Kind  of  got  the  business  of  this  town  sewed  up, 
hain't  you?"  Scattergood  asked,  admiringly.  "Wouldn't 
look  with  favor  on  any  more  stores?  " 

"We  calc'late  to  keep  what  business  we  got,"  said 
Old  Man  Penny.  "A  outsider  would  have  a  hard  time 
makin'  a  go  of  it  here." 

"  Quite  likely,"  said  Scattergood.  "Still,  you  never  can 
tell.  Let  some  feller  come  in  here  with  a  gen'ral  store, 
sellin'  for  cash — and  cuttin'  prices,  eh?  How  would  an 
outsider  git  along  if  he  done  that?  Up-to-date  store. 
Fresh  goods.  Low  prices.  Eh?  Calc'late  some  of  you 
fellers  would  have  to  discharge  a  clerk." 

"You  hain't  got  money  enough  to  start  a  store,"  Old 
Man  Penny  squawked.  "Why,  you  hain't  even  got  a 
satchel !  You  come  walkin'  in  like  a  tramp." 

"There's  tramps — and  tramps,"  said  Scattergood, 
placidly.  He  reached  far  down  into  a  trousers  pocket 
and  tugged  to  the  light  of  day  a  roll  that  his  fingers  could 
not  encircle.  He  looked  at  it  fondly,  tossed  it  up  in  the 
air  a  couple  of  times  and  caught  it,  and  then  held  it 
between  thumb  and  forefinger  until  the  eyes  of  his  au- 
dience had  assured  themselves  that  the  outside  bill  was 
yellow  and  its  denomination  twenty  dollars.  .  .  .  The 
audience  gulped. 

"Meals  to  the  tavern  perty  good?"  Coldriver's  new 
citizen  asked. 

"Say,"  demanded  Locker,  "be  you  really  thinkin' 
about  startin'  a  cash  store  here?" 

"Neighbor,"  said  Scattergood,  "never  give  up  valuable 
information  without  gittin'  somethin'  for  it.  How  much 


4  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

money  would  a  complete  and  careful  account  of  my 
intentions  be  worth  to  you?" 

Locker  snorted.  "Bet  that  wad  of  bills  is  a  dummy  with 
a  counterfeit  twenty  outside  of  it,"  he  said. 

Scattergood  smiled  tantalizingly.  Locker  had  not,  for- 
tunately for  Scattergood,  the  least  idea  how  close  to  the 
truth  he  had  been.  On  one  point  only  had  he  been 
mistaken.  The  twenty  outside  was  not  counterfeit.  How- 
ever, except  for  three  fives,  four  twos,  and  ninety  centi 
in  silver,  it  represented  Scattergood's  total  cash  capital. 

"I'm  goin',"  said  Scattergood,  "to  order  me  two  suppers. 
Two!  From  bean  soup  to  apple  pie.  It's  my  birthday. 
Twenty-six  to-day,  and  I  always  eat  two  suppers  on  my 
birthdays.  .  .  .  Glad  you  leadin'  citizens  see  fit  to  give 
me  such  a  hearty  welcome  to  your  town.  Right  kind  and 
generous  of  you." 

He  turned  and  ambled  down  the  road  toward  the 
tavern,  planting  his  bare  feet  with  evident  pleasure  in 
the  deepest  of  the  warm  sand,  and  flitting  up  little  clouds 
of  it  behind  him.  The  audience  saw  him  seat  himself 
on  the  tavern  steps  and  pull  on  his  shoes.  They  were 
too  far  to  hear  him  say  speculatively  to  himself:  "I  never 
heard  tell  of  a  man  gittin'  a  start  in  life  jest  that  way — 
but  that  hain't  any  reason  it  can't  be  done.  I'm  goin' 
to  do  this  town  good,  and  this  valley.  Hain't  no  more  'n 
fair  them  leadin'  citizens  should  give  me  what  help  they 
feel  they  kin." 

Scattergood  ate  with  ease  and  pleasure  two  complete 
suppers — to  the  openly  expressed  admiration  of  Emma, 
the  waitress.  Very  shortly  afterward  he  retired  to  his 
room,  where,  not  trusting  to  the  sturdiness  of  the  bed- 
slats  provided,  he  dragged  mattress  and  bedding  to  the 
floor  and  was  soon  emitting  snores  that  Landlord  Coombs 
assured  his  wife  was  the  beat  of  anybody  ever  slept  in 
the  house,  not  countin'  that  travelin'  man  from  Boston. 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  5 

Next  morning  Scattergood  was  about  early,  padding 
slowly  up  and  down  the  crossed  streets  which  made  up  the 
village.  He  was  studying  the  ground  for  immediate 
strategic  purposes,  just  as  he  had  been  studying  the  valley 
on  his  long  trudge  up  from  the  railroad  for  purposes  re- 
lated to  distant  campaigns.  Though  Scattergood's  ar- 
rival in  Coldriver  may  have  seemed  impromptu,  as  his 
adoption  of  the  town  for  a  permanent  location  seemed 
abrupt,  not  to  say  impulsive,  neither  really  was  so. 
Scattergood  rarely  acted  without  reason  and  after 
reflection. 

True,  he  had  but  a  moment's  glimpse  of  Coldriver 
before  he  decided  he  had  moved  there,  but  the  glimpse 
showed  him  the  location  was  the  one  he  had  been  searching 
for.  .  .  .  Scattergood's  specialty,  his  hobby,  was  valleys. 
Valleys  down  which  splashed  and  roared  sizable  streams, 
whose  mountain  sides  were  covered  with  timber,  and 
whose  flats  were  comfortable  farms — such  valleys  inter- 
ested him  with  an  especial  interest.  But  the  valley  he  had 
been  looking  for  was  one  with  but  a  single  possible  outlet. 
He  wanted  a  valley  whose  timber  and  produce  and  prod- 
ucts could  not  go  climbing  off  across  the  hills,  over  a 
number  of  easy  roads,  to  market.  His  valley  must  be 
hemmed  in.  The  only  way  to  market  must  lie  down  the 
valley,  with  the  river.  And  the  river  that  flowed  down 
his  valley  must  be  swift,  with  sufficient  volume  all  twelve 
months  of  the  year  to  turn  possible  mill  wheels.  .  .  . 
As  yet  he  thought  only  of  the  direct  application  of  power. 
He  had  not  dreamed  yet  of  great  turbine  generators 
which  should  transport  thousands  of  horse  power,  written 
in  terms  of  electricity,  hundreds  of  miles  across  coun- 
try, there  to  light  cities  and  turn  the  wheels  of  huge 
manufactories.  .  .  . 

Coldriver  Valley  was  that  valley!  He  felt  it  as  soon  as 
he  turned  into  it;  certainty  increased  as  he  progressed 


6  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

between  those  gigantic  walls  black  with  tall,  straight, 
beautiful  spruce.  So,  when  he  sat  shoeless,  resting  his 
blistered  feet  on  Locker's  porch,  he  was  ready  to  make 
his  decision.  The  mere  making  of  it  was  a  negligible 
detail. 

So  Scattergood  Baines  found  his  valley.  He  entered  it 
consciously  as  an  invader,  determined  to  conquer.  Pitiful 
as  were  the  resources  of  Cortez  as  he  adventured  against 
the  power  of  Montezuma,  or  of  Pizarro  as  he  clambered 
over  the  Peruvian  Andes,  they  were  gigantic  compared 
with  Scattergood's.  He  was  starting  to  make  his  con- 
quest backed  by  one  twenty,  three  fives,  four  twos,  and 
ninety  cents  in  silver.  It  was  obvious  to  him  the  country 
to  be  conquered  must  supply  the  sinews  of  war  for  its  own 
conquest. 

Every  village  has  its  ramshackle,  disused  store  building. 
Coldriver  had  one,  especially  well  located,  and  not  so 
ramshackle  as  it  might  have  been.  It  was  big;  its  front 
was  crossed  by  a  broad  porch;  its  show  windows  were  not 
show  windows  at  all,  but  were  put  there  solely  to  give 
light.  Coldriver  did  not  know  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  inviting  patronage  by  skillful  display. 

"Sonny,"  said  Scattergood  to  a  boy  digging  worms  in 
the  shade  of  the  building,  "who  owns  this  here  ruin?" 

"Old  Tom  Plummer,"  said  the  boy,  and  was  even  able 
to  disclose  where  old  Tom  was  to  be  found.  Scattergood 
found  him  feeding  a  dozen  White  Orpingtons. 

"Best  layers  a  man  can  keep,"  said  Scattergood,  sin- 
cerely. " Man's  got  to  have  brains  to  even  raise  chickens." 

"I  git  more  eggs  to  the  hen  than  anybody  else  in  town," 
said  old  Tom,  "but  nobody  listens  to  me." 

"Own  a  store  buildin'  downtown,  don't  you?" 

"Calc'late  to." 

"If  you  was  to  git  a  chance  to  rent  it,  how  much  would 
it  be  a  month?" 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  7 

"Repairs  or  no  repairs?" 

"No  repairs." 

"Twenty  dollars." 

"G'mornin',"  said  Scattergood,  and  turned  toward  the 
gate. 

"What's  your  hurry,  mister?" 

"Can't  bear  to  stay  near  a  man  that  mentions  so  much? 
money  in  a  breath,"  said  Scattergood,  with  his  most 
ingratiating  grin. 

"How  much  could  you  stay  and  hear?" 

"Not  over  ten." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  Seein'  the  buildin's  in  poor  shape,  I'll  call  it 
fifteen." 

"Twelve-fifty's  as  far's  I'll  go — on  a  five-year  lease," 
said  Scattergood.  It  will  be  seen  he  fully  intended  to 
become  permanent. 

"What  you  figger  on  usin'  it  fur?" 

"Maybe  a  opry  house,  maybe  a  dime  museum, 
maybe  a  carpenter  shop,  and  maybe  somethin'  else. 
I  hain't  mentionin'  jest  what,  but  it's  law-abidin'  and 
respectable." 

"Five-year  lease,  eh?    Twelve-fifty." 

"Two  months'  rent  in  advance,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Squire  Hastings '11  draw  the  papers,"  said  old  Tom, 
heading  for  the  gate.  Scattergood  followed,  and  in  half 
an  hour  was  the  lessee  of  a  store  building,  bound  to  pay 
rent  for  five  years,  with  more  than  half  his  capital  van- 
ished— with  no  stock  of  goods  or  wherewith  to  procure 
one,  with  not  even  a  day's  experience  in  any  sort  of  mer- 
chandising to  his  credit. 

His  next  step  was  to  buy  ten  yards  of  white  cloth,  a 
small  paint  brush,  and  a  can  of  paint.  Ostentatiously  he 
borrowed  a  stepladder  and  stretched  the  cloth  across  the 
front  of  his  store,  from  post  to  post.  Then,  equally  osten- 
tatiously, he  mounted  the  stepladder  and  began  to  paint 


8  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

a  sign.    He  was  not  unskilled  in  the  business  of  lettering. 
The  sign,  when  completed,  read: 

CASH  AND  CUT  PRICES  IS  MY  MOTTO 

Having  completed  this,  he  bought  a  pail,  a  mop,  and  a 
broom,  and  proceeded  to  a  thorough  housecleaning  of  his 
premises. 

Old  Man  Penny  and  Locker  and  the  rest  of  the  mer- 
chants were  far  from  oblivious  to  Scattergood's  move- 
ments. No  sooner  had  his  sign  appeared  than  every 
merchant  in  town — excepting  Junkin,  the  druggist,  who 
sold  wall  paper  and  farm  machinery  as  side  lines — went 
into  executive  session  in  the  back  room  of  Locker's  store. 

"He  means  business,"  said  Locker. 

"Leased  that  store  for  five  year,"  said  Old  Man  Penny. 

"Cash,  and  Cut  Prices,"  quoted  Atwell,  "and  you  fellers 
know  our  folks  would  pass  by  their  own  brothers  to  save  a 
penny.  He'll  force  us  to  cut,  too." 

"Me — I  won't  do  it,"  asserted  Kettleman. 

"Then  you'll  eat  your  stock,"  growled  Locker. 

"Fellers,"  said  Atwell,  "if  this  man  gits  started  it's 
goin*  to  cost  all  of  us  money.  He'll  draw  some  trade, 
even  if  he  don't  cut  prices.  Safe  to  figger  he'll  git  a  sixth 
of  it.  And  a  sixth  of  the  business  in  this  region  is  a  pretty 
fair  livin'.  If  he  goes  slashin'  right  and  left,  nobody  kin 
tell  how  much  trade  he'll  draw." 

"We  should  'a'  leased  that  store  between  us.  Then 
nobody  could  'a'  come  in." 

"But  we  didn't.  And  it's  goin'  to  cost  us  money.  If 
he  puts  in  clothing  it  '11  cost  me  five  hundred  dollars  a 
year  in  profits,  anyhow.  Maybe  more.  And  you  other 
fellers  clost  to  as  much." 

"But  we  can't  do  nothin'." 

"We  can  buy  him  off,"  said  Atwell. 

The  meeting  at  that  moment  became  noisy.    Epithets 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  9 

were  applied  with  freedom  to  Scattergood,  and  even  to 
Atwell,  for  these  were  not  men  who  loved  to  part  with 
their  money.  However,  Atwell  showed  them  the  economy 
of  it.  It  was  either  for  them  to  suffer  one  sharp  pang  now, 
or  to  endure  a  greater  dragging  misery.  They  went  in  a 
body  to  call  upon  Scattergood. 

"Howdy,  neighbors!"  Scattergood  said,  genially. 

"We're  the  merchants  of  this  town,"  said  Old  Man 
Penny,  shortly. 

"So  I  judged,"  said  Scattergood. 

"There's  merchants  enough  here,"  the  old  man  roared 
on.  "Too  many.  We  don't  want  any  more.  We  don't 
want  you  should  start  up  any  business  here." 

"You're  too  late.  It's  started.  I've  leased  these  prem- 
ises." 

"But  you  hain't  no  stock  in." 

"I  calc'late  on  havin'  one  shortly,"  said  Scattergood, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  whose  meaning  was  kindly  con- 
cealed from  the  five. 

"What  '11  you  take  not  to  order  any  stock?"  asked  At- 
well, abruptly. 

"Figger  on  buyin'  me  off,  eh?  Now,  neighbors,  I've 
been  lookin'  for  a  place  like  this,  and  I  calc'late  on  stayin'. 
I'm  goin'  to  become  all-fired  permanent  here." 

"Give  you  a  hundred  dollars,"  said  Old  Man  Penny. 

"Apiece?"  asked  Scattergood,  and  laughed  jovially. 
"It's  my  busy  day,  neighbors.  Better  call  in  again." 

"What's  your  figger  to  pull  out  now — 'fore  you're 
started?" 

"Hain't  got  no  figger,  but  if  I  had  I  calc'late  it  would 
be  about  a  thousand  dollars." 

"Give  you  two  hundred,"  said  Old  Man  Penny. 

Scattergood  picked  up  his  mop.  "If  you  fellers  really 
mean  business,  talk  business.  I've  figgered  my  profits  in 
this  store,  countin'  in  low  prices,  wouldn't  be  a  cent  under 


10  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

a  couple  of  thousand  the  first  year.  .  .  .  And  you  know  it. 
That's  what  you're  fussin'  around  here  for.  Now  fish  or 
git  to  bait  cuttinV 

"Five  hundred  dollars,"  said  Atwell,  and  Old  Man 
Penny  moaned. 

"Tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Scattergood.  "You  men 
git  back  here  inside  of  an  hour  with  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  cash,  and  lay  it  in  my  hand,  and  I'll  agree  not  to  sell 
groceries,  dry  goods,  notions,  millinery,  or  men  or  women's 
clothes  in  this  town  for  a  term  of  twenty  year." 

They  drew  off  and  scolded  one  another,  and  glowered  at 
Scattergood,  but  came  to  scratch.  "  It's  jest  like  robbery," 
said  Old  Man  Penny,  tremulously. 

"  Keep  your  money,"  retorted  Scattergood.  "  I'm  satis- 
fied the  way  things  is  at  present." 

Within  the  hour  they  were  back  with  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  in  bills,  a  lawyer,  and  an  agreement,  which 
Scattergood  read  with  minute  attention.  It  bound  him 
not  to  sell,  barter,  trade,  exchange,  deal,  or  in  any  way 
to  derive  a  profit  from  the  handling  of  groceries,  dry  goods, 
notions,  millinery,  clothing,  and  gent's  furnishings.  It 
contained  no  hidden  pitfalls,  and  Scattergood  was  satisfied. 
He  signed  his  name  and  thrust  the  roll  of  bills  into  his 
pocket.  .  .  .  Then  he  picked  up  his  mop  and  went  to  work 
as  hard  as  ever. 

"Say,"  Old  Man  Penny  said,  "what  you  goin'  ahead 
for?  You  jest  agreed  not  to." 

"There  wasn't  nothin'  said  about  moppin',"  grinned 
Scattergood,  "and  there  wasn't  nothin'  said  about  hard- 
ware and  harness  and  farm  implements,  neither.  If  you 
don't  b'lieve  me,  jest  read  the  agreement.  What  I'm  doin', 
neighbors,  is  git  this  place  cleaned  out  to  put  in  the  finest 
cash,  cut-price,  up-to-date  hardware  store  in  the  state. 
And  thank  you,  neighbors.  You've  done  right  kindly  by 
a  stranger.  ..." 


HE   INVADES  COLDRIVER  ll 

To  this  point  the  history  of  Scattergood  Baines  has  been 
for  the  most  part  legendary;  now  we  begin  to  encounter 
him  in  the  public  records,  for  deeds,  mortgages,  and  the 
like  begin  to  appear  with  his  name  upon  them.  His  history 
becomes  authentic. 

Seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  is  not  much  when  put 
into  hardware,  but  Scattergood  had  no  intention  of  put- 
ting even  that  into  a  stock  of  goods.  He  had  a  notion  that 
the  right  kind  of  man,  with  five  hundred  dollars,  could 
get  credit  to  twice  that  amount,  and  as  for  farm  machinery, 
he  could  sell  by  catalogue  or  on  commission.  His  suspicion 
was  proven  to  be  fact. 

But  it  was  not  in  Scattergood  to  sit  idle  while  he  waited 
for  his  stock  to  arrive.  Coldriver  doubtless  thought  him 
idle,  but  he  was  studying  the  locality  and  the  river  with 
the  eye  of  a  commander  who  knew  this  was  to  be  his 
battlefield.  What  Scattergood  wanted  now  was  to  place 
himself  astride  Coldriver  Valley,  somewhere  below  the 
village,  so  that  he  could  control  the  upper  reaches  of  the 
stream.  It  was  not  difficult  to  find  such  a  location.  It 
lay  three  miles  below  town,  at  the  junction  of  the  north 
and  south  branches  of  Coldriver.  The  juncture  was  in  a 
big,  marshy,  untillable  flat,  from  which  hills  rose  abruptly. 
From  the  easterly  end  of  the  flat  the  augmented  river 
squeezed  in  a  roaring  rapids  through  a  sort  of  bottle  neck. 

Scattergood  stood  on  the  hillside  and  looked  upon  this 
with  satisfied  eye. 

"A  dam  across  that  bottle  neck,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"will  flood  that  flat.  Reg'lar  reservoy.  Millpond.  Git  a 
twenty-foot  fall  here  easy,  maybe  more.  Calculate  that  '11 
run  about  any  mill  folks  '11  want  to  build.  And,"  he 
scratched  his  head  as  a  sort  of  congratulation  to  it  for  its 
efficiency,  "I  can't  study  out  how  anybody's  agoin'  to 
git  logs  past  here  without  dickerin'  with  the  man  who  owns 
the  dam " 


12  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Plenty  of  water  twelve  months  a  year  to  give  free  power; 
a  flat  made  to  order  for  reservoir  or  log  pond;  a  complete 
and  effective  blockade  of  both  branches  of  the  river  which 
came  down  from  a  country  richly  timbered!  It  was  one 
of  the  spots  Scattergood  had  dreamed  of. 

Scattergood  knew  perfectly  well  he  could  not  stop  a  log 
from  passing  his  dam.  Nor  could  he  shut  off  the  stream. 
Any  dam  he  built  must  have  a  sluice  which  could  be  opened 
for  the  passage  of  timber,  and  all  timber  was  entitled  to 
"natural  water."  But,  as  he  well  knew,  "natural  water" 
was  not  always  enough.  A  dam  at  this  point  would  raise 
the  level  on  the  bars  of  the  flat  so  that  logs  would  not  jam, 
and  a  log  which  used  the  high  water  caused  by  the  dam 
must  pay  for  it.  What  Scattergood  had  in  mind  was  a 
dam  and  boom  company.  It  was  his  project  to  improve 
the  river,  to  boom  backwaters,  to  dynamite  ledges,  to 
make  the  river  passable  to  logs  in  spring  and  fall.  It  was 
his  idea  that  such  a  company,  in  addition  to  demanding 
pay  for  the  use  of  "improvements,"  could  contract  with 
lumbermen  up  the  river  to  drive  their  logs.  .  .  .  And  a  mill 
at  this  point!  Scattergood  fairly  licked  his  lips  as  he 
thought  of  the  millions  upon  millions  of  feet  of  spruce  to 
be  sawed  into  lumber. 

The  firm  foundation  that  Scattergood 's  strategy  rested 
upon  was  that  lumbering  had  not  really  started  in  the 
valley.  The  valley  had  not  opened  up,  but  lay  undevel- 
oped, waiting  to  be  stirred  to  life.  Scattergood's  strength 
lay  in  that  he  could  see  ahead  of  to-day,  and  was  patient 
to  wait  for  the  developments  that  to-morrow  must  bring. 
To-day  his  foresight  could  get  for  him  what  would  be 
impossible  to-morrow.  If  he  stepped  softly  he  could 
obtain  a  charter  from  the  state  to  develop  that  river, 
which,  when  lumbering  interests  became  actually  engaged, 
would  be  fought  by  them  to  the  last  penny.  .  .  .  And  he 
felt  in  his  bones  that  day  would  not  long  be  delayed. 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  13 

The  land  Scattergood  required  was  owned  by  three  in- 
dividuals. All  of  it  was  worthless — except  to  a  man  of 
vision — so,  treading  lightly,  Scattergood  went  about  ac- 
quiring what  he  needed.  His  method  was  not  direct  ap- 
proach. He  went  to  the  owners  of  that  land  with  proffers 
to  sell,  not  to  buy.  To  Landers,  who  owned  the  marsh  on 
both  shores  of  the  river,  he  tried  to  sell  the  newest  devel- 
opment in  mowing  machines,  and  his  manner  of  doing  so 
was  to  hitch  to  the  newly  arrived  machine,  haul  it  to 
Landers's  meadow — where  the  owner  was  haying — drag 
it  through  the  gate,  and  unhitch. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "try  this  here  machine.  Won't  cost 
you  nothin'  to  try  it,  and  I'm  curious  to  see  if  it  works  as 
good  as  they  say." 

Landers  was  willing.  It  worked  better.  Landers  re- 
garded the  machine  longingly,  and  spoke  of  price.  Scat- 
tergood disclosed  it. 

"Hain't  got  it  and  can't  afford  it,"  said  Landers. 

"Might  afford  a  swap?" 

"  Might.    What  you  got  in  mind?  " 

"Say,"  said  Scattergood,  changing  the  subject,  "ever 
try  drainin'  that  marsh  in  the  fork?  Looks  like  it  could 
be  done.  Might  make  a  good  medder." 

Landers  laughed.  "If  you  want  to  try,"  he  chuckled, 
"I'll  trade  it  to  you  for  this  here  mowin'  machine." 

"Hum!  ..."  grunted  Scattergood,  and  higgled  and 
argued,  but  ended  by  accepting  a  deed  for  the  land  and 
turning  over  the  machine  to  Landers.  Scattergood  him- 
self had  sixty  days  to  pay  for  it.  It  cost  him  something 
like  half  a  dollar  an  acre,  and  Landers  considered  he  had 
robbed  the  hardware  merchant  of  a  machine. 

One  side  of  the  bottle  neck  Scattergood  took  in  exchange 
for  a  kitchen  stove  and  a  double  harness;  the  third  parcel 
of  land  came  to  him  for  a  keg  of  nails,  five  gallons  of  paint, 
sundry  kitchen  utensils,  and  twelve  dollars  and  fifty  cents 


14  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

in  money.  .  .  .  And  when  Coldriver  heard  of  the  deals  it 
chuckled  derisively  and  regarded  its  hardware  merchant 
with  pitying  scorn. 

Then  Scattergood  left  a  youth  in  charge  of  his  store  and 
went  softly  to  the  state  capital.  In  after  years  his  skill  in 
handling  legislatures  was  often  remarked  upon  with  dis- 
pleasure. His  young  manhood  held  prophecy  of  this 
future  ability,  for  he  came  home  acquainted  with  nine 
tenths  of  the  legislators,  laughed  at  by  hah"  of  them  as  a 
harmless  oddity,  and  with  a  state  charter  for  his  river 
company  hi  his  pocket.  .  .  .  When  folks  heard  of  that 
charter  they  held  their  sides  and  roared. 

Scattergood  returned  to  selling  hardware,  and  waited. 
He  had  an  idea  he  would  hear  something  stirring  on  his 
trail  before  long,  and  he  fancied  he  could  guess  who  and 
what  that  something  would  be.  He  judged  he  would  hear 
from  two  gentlemen  named  Crane  and  Keith.  Crane 
owned  some  twenty  thousand  acres  of  timber  along  the 
North  Branch;  Keith  owned  slightly  lesser  limits  along 
the  South  Branch.  Both  gentlemen  were  lumbering  and 
operating  mills  in  another  state;  their  Coldriver  holdings 
they  had  acquired,  and,  as  the  saying  is,  forgotten,  until 
the  time  should  come  when  they  would  desire  to  move 
into  Coldriver  Valley. 

Now  these  holdings  were  recalled  sharply  to  memory, 
and  both  of  them  took  train  to  Coldriver. 

Scattergood  had  not  worried  about  it.  He  had  simply 
gone  along  selling  hardware  in  his  own  way — and  selling 
a  good  deal  of  it.  His  store  had  a  new  front,  his  stock  was 
augmented.  It  was  his  business  to  sell  goods,  and  he  sold 
them. 

For  instance,  Lena  Jones  stopped  and  hitched  his  team 
before  the  store,  one  chilly  day.  His  horses  he  covered 
with  old  burlap,  lacking  blankets.  While  Lem  was  buying 
groceries,  Scattergood  selected  two  excellent  blankets, 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  15 

carried  them  out,  and  put  them  on  the  horses.  Then  he 
went  back  into  the  store  to  attend  to  other  matters. 
Presently  Lem  came  in. 

"Where'd  them  blankets  come  from?"  he  asked. 

"Hosses  looked  a  mite  chilly/'  said  Scattergood,  without 
interest,  "so  I  covered  'em." 

"Bleeged,"  said  Lem.  Then,  awkwardly,  "I  calc'late 
I  need  a  pair  of  blankets,  but  I  can't  afford  'em  this  year. 
Wife's  been  sick—" 

"Sure,"  said  Scattergood,  "I  know.  If  you  want  them 
blankets  take  'em  along.  Pay  me  when  you  kin.  .  .  .  Jest 
give  me  a  sort  of  note  for  a  memorandum.  Glad  to  ac- 
commodate you." 

So  Scattergood  marketed  his  blankets,  taking  in  ex- 
change a  perfectly  good,  interest-bearing  note.  Also, 
he  made  a  friend,  for  Lem  could  not  be  convinced  but 
Scattergood  had  done  him  a  notable  favor. 

Scattergood  now  had  money  in  the  bank.  No  longer 
did  he  have  to  stretch  his  credit  for  stock.  He  was  estab- 
lished— and  all  in  less  than  a  year.  Hardware,  it  seemed, 
had  been  a  commodity  much  needed  in  that  locality,  yet 
no  one  had  handled  it  in  sufficient  stock  because  of  the 
twenty-four-mile  haul.  That  had  been  too  costly.  It 
cost  Scattergood  just  as  much,  but  his  customers  paid  for 

it The  difference  between  him  and  the  other  merchants 

was  that  he  sold  goods  while  they  allowed  folks  to  buy. 

So,  wisely,  he  kept  on  building  up  in  a  small  way,  while 
waiting  for  bigger  things  to  develop.  And  as  he  waited 
he  studied  the  valley  until  he  could  recite  every  inch  of 
it,  and  he  studied  the  future  until  he  knew  what  the  future 
would  require  of  that  valley.  He  knew  it  before  the  future 
knew  it  and  before  the  valley  knew  it,  and  was  laying  his 
plans  to  be  ready  with  pails  to  catch  the  sap  when  others, 
taken  by  surprise,  would  be  running  wildly  about  seeking 
for  buckets. 


16  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Then  Crane  and  Keith  arrived  in  Coldriver.  .  .  .  That 
day  marked  Scattergood's  emergence  from  the  ranks  of 
country  merchants,  though  he  retained  his  hardware  store 
to  the  last.  That  day  marked  distinctly  Scattergood's 
launching  on  a  greater  body  of  water.  For  forty  years  he 
sailed  it  with  varying  success,  meeting  failures  sometimes, 
scoring  victories;  but  interesting,  characteristic  in  every 
phase — a  genius  in  his  way  and  a  man  who  never  took 
the  commonplace  course  when  the  unusual  was  open  to 
him. 

"I  suppose  you've  looked  this  man  Baines  up,"  said 
Crane  to  Keith  when  they  met  in  the  Coldriver  tavern. 

"I  know  how  much  he  weighs  and  how  many  teeth  he's 
had  filled,"  Keith  replied. 

"He  ought  not  to  be  so  difficult  to  handle.  He  hasn't 
capital  enough  to  put  this  company  of  his  through  and 
his  business  experience  don't  amount  to  much." 

"For  monkeying  with  our  buzz  saw,"  said  Keith,  "we 
ought  to  let  him  lose  a  couple  of  fingers." 

"How's  this  for  an  idea,  then?"  Crane  said,  and  for 
fifteen  minutes  he  outlined  his  theory  of  how  best  to  elim- 
inate Scattergood  Baines  from  being  an  obstruction  to  the 
free  flowage  of  their  schemes  for  Coldriver  Valley. 

"It's  got  others  by  the  hundred, in  one  form  or  another," 
agreed  Keith.  "This  jayhawker  '11  welcome  it  with  tears 
of  joy." 

Whereupon  they  went  gladly  on  their  way  to  Scatter- 
good's store,  not  as  enemies,  but  as  business  men  who 
recognized  his  abilities  and  preferred  to  have  him  with 
them  from  the  start,  that  they  might  profit  by  his  canni- 
ness  and  energy,  rather  than  to  array  themselves  against 
him  in  an  effort  to  take  away  from  him  what  he  had 
obtained. 

Only  by  the  exercise  of  notable  will  power  could  Crane 
keep  his  face  straight  as  he  shook  hands  with  ungainly 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  17 

Scattergood  and  saw  with  his  own  eyes  what  a  perfect 
bumpkin  he  had  to  deal  with. 

"I  suppose  you  thought  we  fellows  would  be  sore,"  he 
said,  genially. 

"Dunno's  I  thought  about  you  at  all,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "I  was  thinkin'  mainly  about  me." 

"Well,  we're  not.  You  caught  us  napping,  of  course. 
We  should  have  grabbed  off  that  dam  location  long  ago — • 
but  we  weren't  expecting  anybody  to  stray  in  with  his 
eyes  open — like  yourself.  ...  Of  course  your  property  and 
charter  aren't  worth  a  great  deal  till  we  start  lumbering." 

"Not  to  anybody  but  me,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Well,  we  expect  to  begin  operations  in  a  year  or  so. 
We'll  build  a  mill  on  the  railroad,  and  drive  our  logs  down 
the  river." 

"Givin'  my  company  the  drivin'  contracts?" 

"Looks  like  we'd  have  to — if  you  get  in  your  dam  and 
improvements.  But  that  '11  take  money.  We've  looked 
you  up,  of  course,  and  we  know  you  haven't  it — nor  any 
backing. . .  .  That's  why  we've  come  to  see  you." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Scattergood.  "Goin'  to  drive  'way 
to  the  railroad,  eh?  How  if  there  was  a  mill  right  at  my 
dam?  Shorten  your  drive  twenty  mile,  wouldn't  it,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Keith,  laughing  at  Scattergood's  igno- 
rance; "but  how  about  transportation  from  your  mill  to 
the  railroad?  We  can't  drive  cut  lumber." 

"Course  not,"  said  Scattergood,  "but  this  valley's  goin' 
to  open  up.  It's  startin'.  There's  only  one  way  to  open 
a  valley,  and  that's  to  run  a  railroad  up  it.  ...  Narrow- 
gauge  'u'd  do  here.  Carry  mostly  lumber,  but  passengers, 
too." 

"Thinking  of  building  one?"  asked  Crane,  almost 
laughing  in  Scattergood's  face. 

"Thinkin'  don't  cost  nobody  anythin',"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "Ever  take  a  look  at  that  charter  of  mine? " 


18  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"No." 

"  I'll  let  you  read  it  over  a  bit.  Maybe  you'll  git  a  idea 
from  it." 

He  extracted  the  parchment  from  his  safe,  and  spread 
it  before  them.  "Kind  of  look  careful  along  toward  the 
end — in  the  tail  feathers  of  it,  so  to  speak,"  he  advised. 

They  did  so,  and  Crane  looked  up  at  the  fat  hardware 
man  with  eyes  that  were  not  quite  so  contemptuous.  "By 
George!"  he  said,  "this  thing's  a  charter  for  a  railroad 
down  the  valley,  too." 

"Uh-huh!"  said  Scattergood.  "Dunno's  the  boys  quite 
see  what  it  was  all  about,  but  they  calc'lated  to  please  me, 
so  they  put  it  through  jest  as  it  stood.  Mighty  nice  fellers 
up  to  the  legislature." 

"Pretty  far  in  the  future,"  said  Keith,  "and  mighty 
expensive." 

"Maybe  not  so  far,"  said  Scattergood,  "and  I  could 
make  a  darn  good  start  narrow-gaugin'  it  with  a  hunderd 
thousand." 

"Which  you've  got  handy  for  use,"  said  Crane. 

"There  is  that  much  money,"  said  Scattergood,  "and 
if  there  is,  why,  it  kin  be  got." 

"Let's  get  back  to  the  river,  now,"  said  Keith.  "If 
we're  going  to  start  lumbering  in  a  year,  say,  we've  got 
to  have  the  river  in  shape.  Take  quite  some  tune  to  get 
it  cleared  and  dammed  and  boomed." 

"Six  months,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Cost  a  right  smart  pile." 

"The  work  I'm  figgerin'  on  would  come  to  about  thirty- 
odd  thousand." 

"Which  you  haven't  got." 

"Somebody  has,"  said  Scattergood. 

"We  have,"  said  Crane.  "That's  why  we  came  to  you 
— and  with  a  proposition.  You've  grabbed  this  thing  off, 
but  you  can't  hog  it,  because  you  haven't  the  money  to 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  19 

put  it  through.  Our  offer  is  this:  You  put  in  your  loca- 
tions and  your  charter  against  our  money.  We'll  finance 
it.  Your  enterprise  entitles  you  to  control.  We  won't 
dispute  that.  You  can  have  fifty-one  per  cent  of  the  stock 
for  what  you've  contributed.  We  take  the  rest  for  financ- 
ing. We're  known,  and  can  get  money." 

"How  you  figger  to  work  it?" 

"We'll  bond  for  forty  thousand  dollars.  Keith  and  I 
can  place  the  bonds.  That  '11  give  us  money  to  go  ahead." 

Scattergood  reached  down  and  took  off  a  huge  shoe. 
Usually  he  thought  more  accurately  when  his  feet  were 
unconfined.  "  That  means  we'd  sort  of  mortgage  the  whole 
thing,  eh?" 

"That's  the  idea." 

"And  if  we  didn't  pay  interest  on  the  bonds,  why,  the 
fellers  that  had  'em  could  foreclose?  " 

"But  we  needn't  worry  about  that." 

"Not,"  said  Scattergood,  "if  you  fellers  sign  a  contract 
with  the  dam  and  boom  company  to  give  them  the  ex- 
clusive job  of  drivin'  all  your  timber  at,  say,  sixty  cents  a 
thousand  feet  of  logs.  And  if  you'd  stick  a  clause  in  that 
contract  that  you'd  begin  cuttin'  within  twelve  months 
from  date." 

"Sure  we'd  do  that,"  said  Keith.  "To  our  advantage 
as  much  as  to  yours." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Scattergood. 

"It's  a  deal,  then?" 

"Far's  I'm  concerned,"  said  Scattergood,  slipping  his 
foot  inside  his  shoe,  "it  is." 

That  afternoon,  the  papers  having  been  signed  and  the 
deal  consummated,  Scattergood  sat  cogitating. 

"I've  been  done,"  he  said  to  himself,  solemnly,  "ac- 
cordin'  to  them  fellers'  notion.  They  come  and  seen  me, 
and  done  me.  They  planned  out  how  they'd  do  it,  and  I 
didn't  never  suspect  a  thing.  Uh-huh!  Seems  like  I  was 


20  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

unfortunate,  just  gettin'  a  start  in  life  like  I  be. ...  Bonds, 
says  they.  Uh-huh!  They'll  place  'em,  and  place  'em 
handy.  First  int'rest  day  there  won't  be  no  int'rest,  and 
them  bonds  '11  be  foreclosed — and  where  '11 1  be?  Mighty 
ingenious  fellers,  Crane  and  Keith.  .  .  .  And  I  up  and 
walked  right  into  it  like  a  fly  into  a  molasses  barrel. 
Them  fellers,"  he  said,  even  more  somberly,  "come  here 
calc'latin'  to  cheat  me  out  of  my  river. . .  .Me  bein'  jest  a 
fat  man  without  no  brains.  ..." 

Crane  and  Keith  had  left  Scattergood  the  executive 
head  of  the  new  dam  and  boom  company,  and  had  con- 
fided to  him  the  task  of  building  the  dam  and  improving 
the  river.  He  approached  it  sadly. 

"Might  as  well  save  what  I  kin  out  of  the  wreck,"  he 
said  to  himself,  and  quietly  manufactured  a  dummy  con- 
tracting company  to  whom  he  let  the  entire  job  for  a 
lump  sum  of  thirty-eight  thousand  seven  hundred  dollars. 
The  dummy  contractor  was  Scattergood  Baines. 

The  dam  was  completed,  booms  and  cribbing  placed, 
ledges  blasted  out  well  within  the  six  months'  period  set 
for  those  operations.  Every  thirty  days  Scattergood,  in 
the  name  of  the  dummy  contractor,  was  paid  eighty  per 
cent  of  his  estimates,  and  at  the  completion  of  the  work 
he  received  the  remainder  of  the  whole  sum. 

"I  wouldn't  'a'  done  it  to  them  boys,"  he  said,  as  he 
surveyed  a  deposit  of  upward  of  seven  thousand  dollars, 
his  profit  on  the  transaction,  "if  it  hadn't  'a'  been  they 
organized  to  cheat  me  out  of  my  river.  I  calc'late  in  the 
circumstances,  though,  I'm  most  entitled  to  what  I  kin 
salvage  out  of  the  wreck." 

Now  the  Coldriver  Dam  and  Boom  Company,  Scatter- 
good  Baines  president  and  manager,  was  ready  for  busi- 
ness, which  was  to  take  the  logs  of  Messrs.  Crane  and  Keith 
and  drive  them  down  the  river  at  the  rate  of  sixty  cents 
per  thousand  feet.  It  was  ready  and  eager,  and  so  ex- 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  21 

pressed  itself  in  quaintly  worded  communications  from 
Baines  to  those  gentlemen.  But  no  logs  appeared  to  be 
driven. 

"Jest  like  I  said,"  Scattergood  told  himself,  and,  the 
day  being  hot  and  the  road  dusty,  he  removed  his  shoes 
and  rested  his  sweltering  bulk  in  the  shade  to  consider  it. 

"It's  a  nice  river,"  he  said,  audibly.  "I  hate  to  git 
done  out  of  it." 

After  long  delays  Crane  and  Keith  made  pretense  of 
building  camps  and  starting  to  log.  But  one  difficulty 
after  another  descended  on  their  operations.  In  the  spring, 
when  each  of  them  should  have  had  several  millions  of  feet 
of  spruce  ready  to  roll  into  the  water,  not  a  log  was  on 
rollways.  Not  a  man  was  in  the  camps,  for,  owing  to 
reasons  not  to  be  comprehended  by  the  public,  the  woods- 
men of  both  operators  had  struck  simultaneously  and  left 
the  woods. 

Presently  the  first  interest  day  arrived,  with  not  even  a 
hope  of  being  able  to  meet  the  required  payment  at  a 
future  date.  Bondholders — dummies,  just  as  Scatter- 
good's  contractor  was  a  dummy — met.  Their  deliberations 
were  brief.  Foreclose  with  all  promptitude  was  their 
word,  and  foreclose  they  did.  With  the  result  that  legal 
notices  were  published  to  the  effect  that  on  the  sixteenth 
day  of  June  the  dam,  booms,  cribbing,  improvements, 
charter,  contracts,  and  property  of  whatsoever  nature 
belonging  to  the  Coldriver  Dam  and  Boom  Company  were 
to  be  sold  at  public  auction  on  the  steps  of  the  county 
courthouse.  Scattergood  had  lost  his  river.  .  .  . 

"Terms  of  the  sale  are  cash  with  the  bid,"  said  Crane 
to  Keith.  "I  saw  to  that." 

"Good.  Wasn't  necessary,  I  guess.  There  hasn't  been 
even  a  wriggle  out  of  Baines." 

"Won't  be.  We'll  have  to  send  somebody  up  to  bid 
it  in.  It's  just  taking  money  out  of  one  pocket  to  put 


22  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

it  into  the  other,  but  we've  got  to  go  through  the 
motions." 

"Anyhow,  let's  get  credit  for  grabbing  a  bargain,"  said 
Keith.  "Bid  her  in  cheap.  No  use  taking  a  big  wad  of 
money  out  of  circulation  even  for  a  few  days." 

"Ten  thousand  '11  be  enough.  Say  ten  thousand  six 
hundred,  just  to  make  it  sound  better.  Have  to  have  two 
bidders  there." 

"Sure,"  agreed  Keith.  "I  guess  this '11  teach  our  fat 
dreamer  of  dreams  not  to  get  in  the  way  of  the  cars." 

Scattergood's  stock  had  gone  down  hi  Coldriver.  True, 
his  hardware  store  was  thriving.  In  the  two  years  his  stock 
had  increased  from  what  his  seven  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars, with  credit  added,  would  buy,  to  an  inventory  of 
better  than  five  thousand  dollars,  free  of  debt.  It  is  true 
also  that  with  the  last  winter  coming  on  he  had  looked 
about  for  a  chance  to  keep  his  small  surplus  at  work  for 
him,  and  his  eyes  had  fallen  upon  the  item  of  firewood. 
In  Coldriver  were  a  matter  of  sixty  houses  and  a  hotel,  all 
of  which  derived  then*  heat  from  hardwood  chunks,  and 
cooked  their  meals  on  range  fires  with  sixteen-inch  split 
wood.  The  houses  were  mostly  of  that  large,  comfortable, 
country  variety  which  could  not  be  kept  warm  with  one 
fire.  Scattergood  figured  they  would  burn  on  an  average 
of  fifteen  cords  of  wood. 

Now  stove  wood,  to  be  really  useful,  must  have  sea- 
soned a  year.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  build  fires  with  green 
wood.  Appreciating  this,  Scattergood  ambled  about  the 
countryside  and  bought  up  every  available  stick  of  wood 
at  prices  of  the  day — and  under,  for  he  was  a  good  buyer. 
He  secured  a  matter  of  a  thousand  cords — and  then  waited 
hopefully. 

It  was  a  small  transaction,  promising  no  great  profits, 
but  Scattergood  Baines  was  never,  even  when  a  rich 
man,  one  to  scorn  a  small  deal.  .  .  .  Within  sixty  days 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  23 

he  turned  over  his  corner  in  wood,  realizing  a  profit  of 
something  over  four  hundred  dollars.  .  .  .  This  is  merely 
to  illustrate  how  Scattergood's  capital  grew. 

On  June  16th  Scattergood  drove  to  the  county  seat. 
He  now  owned  a  horse,  and  a  buggy  whose  seat  he  more 
than  comfortably  filled.  In  the  county  seat  Scattergood 
was  not  unknown,  for  various  county  officers  had  been 
helped  to  their  place  by  his  growing  influence  in  his  town — 
notably  the  sheriff. 

There  was  little  interest  hi  the  sale,  and  what  interest 
there  was  Scattergood  caused  by  his  unexpected  appear- 
ance. Nobody  had  imagined  he  would  be  present.  Now 
that  he  was  there,  nobody  could  imagine  why.  He  did 
not  enlighten  them,  though  he  was  delighted  to  sit  in  the 
sun  on  the  courthouse  steps,  waiting  for  the  hour  of  the 
sale,  and  to  chat.  He  loved  to  chat,  especially  if  he  could 
get  off  his  shoes  and  wriggle  his  toes  in  the  sunshine. 
And  so  he  sat,  bare  of  foot,  when  the  sheriff  appeared  and 
made  his  announcement  of  the  approaching  sale.  Scat- 
tergood chatted  on,  apparently  not  interested. 

"All  the  dams,  booms,  cribbings,  improvements,  and 
property  of  the  Coldriver  Dam  and  Boom  Company  ..." 
the  sheriff  read. 

"Includin*  contracts  and  charter,"  amended  Scatter- 
good. 

"Including  contracts  and  charter,"  agreed  the  sheriff, 
and  Scattergood  continued  his  chat. 

Bidding  began.  It  was  not  brisk  or  exciting.  Five 
thousand  was  the  first  offer,  from  a  young  man  apper- 
taining to  Crane.  Keith's  young  man  raised  him  five 
hundred.  Back  and  forth  they  tossed  it,  carrying  on  the 
pretense,  until  Keith's  young  man  reached  the  sum  of 
ten  thousand  six  hundred  dollars.  ...  A  silence  followed. 

"Ten  thousand  six  hundred   I'm  offered,"   said  the 
sheriff,  loudly,  and  repeated  it.    He  had  been  a  licensed 
3 


24  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

auctioneer  in  his  day.  "  Do  I  hear  seven  hundred?  Seven 
hundred  .  .  .  Six  fifty  ..."  A  portentous  pause.  "Go- 
ing at  ten  thousand  six  hundred,  once.  Going  at  ten 
thousand  six  hundred,  twice  ..." 

"Ten  thousand  seven  hunderd,"  said  Scattergood, 
casually. 

Crane's  young  man  looked  at  Keith's  young  man  in  a 
panic.  They  had  only  the  sum  they  had  bid  upon  them. 
.  .  .  Cash  with  bid  were  the  terms  of  sale.  Scattergood, 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  saw  them  rush  together  and 
confer  frenziedly.  His  eye  glinted. 

"Ten  thousand  eight  hundred,"  Crane's  youth  bid, 
desperately. 

"Cash  with  bid  is  terms  of  sale,"  said  Scattergood.  "I 
object  to  listenin'  to  that  bid  without  the  young  man 
perduces."  He  smiled  at  the  sheriff. 

"Mr.  Baines  is  right,"  said  the  sheriff.  "Protect  your 
bid  with  the  cash  or  I  cannot  receive  it." 

"Make  him  protect  his  bid!"  shouted  Crane's  young 
man. 

"Certain,"  said  Scattergood,  approaching  the  sheriff 
and  drawing  a  huge  roll  of  bills  from  his  sagging  trousers 
pocket.  "Calc'late  you'll  find  her  there,  Mr.  Sheriff, 
and  some  besides.  Make  your  change  and  gimme  back 
the  rest." 

"I'm  waitin'  on  you,  young  feller,"  said  the  sheriff, 
eying  the  young  men.  .  .  .  "Ten  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred I  hear.  Going  at  ten  thousand  seven  hundred— 
once.  .  .  .  Twice.  .  .  .  Three  times!  .  .  .  Sold  to  Mr. 
Baines  for  ten  thousand  seven  hundred  dollars.  ..." 

So  ends  the  first  epoch  of  Scattergood  Baines's  career  in 
Coldriver  Valley.  Here  he  emerges  as  a  personage.  From 
this  point  his  fame  began  to  spread,  and  legend  grew. 
Had  he  not,  hi  two  brief  years,  after  arriving  with  less 
than  fifty  dollars  as  a  total  capital,  acquired  a  profitable 


HE  INVADES  COLDRIVER  25 

hardware  store — donated  in  the  beginning  by  competitors? 
Had  he  not  now,  for  the  most  part  with  money  wrenched 
from  Crane  and  Keith  by  his  dummy  contracting,  been 
enabled  to  bid  in  for  ten  thousand  seven  hundred  dollars 
a  new  property  worth  nearly  four  tunes  that  much? 
He  was  a  man  into  whose  band  wagon  all  were  eager  to 
clamber. 

But  Scattergood  did  not  change.  He  went  back  to  his 
hardware  store  and  waited — waited  for  Crane  and  Keith  to 
start  their  inevitable  logging  operations.  For  in  his  safe 
reposed  ironclad  contracts  with  those  gentlemen,  covering 
the  future  for  a  decade,  compelling  them  to  pay  him 
sixty  cents  for  every  thousand  feet  of  timber  that  floated 
down  his  river.  It  was  a  good  two  years'  work.  He  could 
well  afford  to  wait.  .  .  . 

Scattergood  sat  on  the  porch  of  his  store,  in  the  sun- 
niest spot,  twiddling  his  bare  toes. 

"The  way  to  make  money,"  he  said  to  the  mountain 
opposite,  "is  to  let  smarter  folks  'n  you  be  make  it  for 
you  .  .  .  like  I  done." 


CHAPTER  II 

SCATTERGOOD   KICKS  UP  THE  DUST 

OCATTERGOOD  BAINES  sat  on  the  porch  of  his 
O  hardware  store  and  looked  down  Coldriver  Valley. 
It  was  very  beautiful,  even  under  the  hot  summer  sun  of 
the  second  anniversary  of  Scattergood's  arrival  in  that 
part  of  the  world,  but  he  was  not  seeing  it  as  it  was — moun- 
tainous, green,  with  untouched  forests,  quickened  to  life 
and  sound  by  the  swift,  rushing,  splashing  downrush  of  a 
tireless  mountain  river.  Scattergood  saw  the  valley  as  he 
was  going  to  make  it,  for  he  was  a  specialist  in  valleys. 

For  years  he  had  searched  for  an  undeveloped  valley 
— for  the  sort  of  valley  it  would  be  worth  his  while  to  take 
in  hand,  and  two  years  ago  he  had  found  it  and  invaded 
it.  His  equipment  for  its  conquest  had  been  meager- 
some  fifty  dollars  in  money  and  a  head  filled  from  ear  to 
ear  and  from  eyebrows  to  scalp  lock  with  shrewdness. 
His  progress  in  twenty-four  months  had  been  notable,  for 
he  was  sole  proprietor  of  a  profitable  hardware  store  in 
Coldriver  village,  and  controlled  the  upper  stretches  of 
Coldriver  by  virtue  of  a  certain  dam  and  boom  company 
built  with  other  men's  capital  for  Scattergood's  benefit 
and  behoof. 

Now,  in  the  eye  of  his  mind,  he  could  see  the  whole 
twenty-odd  miles  of  his  valley.  Along  the  left  bank, 
hanging  perilously  to  the  slope  of  the  mountain,  he  saw 
the  rails  of  a  narrow-gauge  railroad  reaching  from  Cold- 
river  Valley  to  the  main  line  that  passed  the  valley's 
mouth.  He  saw  sturdy,  snorting  little  engines  drawing 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      27 

logs  to  sawmills  of  a  magnitude  not  dreamed  of  by  any 
other  man  in  the  locality,  and  he  saw  other  engines  haul- 
ing out  lumber  to  the  southward.  He  saw  villages  where 
no  villages  existed  that  day,  and  villages  meaning  more 
traffic  for  his  railroad,  more  trade  for  the  stores  he  had  it 
in  his  thought  to  establish.  Something  else  he  saw,  but 
more  dimly.  This  vision  took  the  shape  of  a  gigantic 
dam  far  back  in  the  mountains,  behind  which  should  be 
stored  the  waters  from  the  melting  snows  and  from  the 
spring  rains,  so  that  they  might  be  released  at  will  to 
insure  a  uniform  flow  throughout  the  year,  wet  months 
and  dry  months,  as  he  desired.  He  saw  this  water  pouring 
over  other  dams,  turning  water  wheels,  giving  power  to 
mills  and  factories.  More  than  that,  in  the  remotest  and 
dimmest  recess  of  his  brain  he  saw  not  sharply,  not  with 
full  comprehension,  this  tremendous  water  power  con- 
verted into  electricity  and  transported  mile  upon  mile 
over  far-reaching  wires,  to  give  light  and  energy  to  distant 
communities. 

But  all  that  was  remote;  it  lay  in  the  years  to  come. 
For  the  present  smaller  affairs  must  content  him.  Even 
the  matter  of  the  narrow-gauge  railroad  was  beyond  his 
grasp. 

Scattergood  reached  down  mechanically  and  removed 
his  huge  shoes;  then,  stretching  out  his  fat  legs  gratefully, 
he  twiddled  his  toes  in  the  sunlight  and  gave  himself  up 
to  practical  thought.  He  controlled  the  tail  of  the  valley 
with  his  dam  and  boom  company;  he  must  control  its 
mouth.  He  must  have  command  over  the  exit  from  the 
valley  so  that  every  individual,  every  log,  every  article 
of  merchandise  that  entered  or  left  the  valley,  should  pass 
through  his  hands.  That  was  to  be  the  next  step.  He 
must  straddle  the  mouth  of  the  valley  like  the  fat  colossus 
he  was. 

Scattergood  was  placid  and  patient.    He  knew  what  he 


28  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

wanted  to  do  with  his  valley,  and  had  perfect  confidence 
he  should  accomplish  it.  But  he  had  no  disposition  to 
hasten  matters  unwisely.  It  was  better,  as  he  told  Sam 
Kettleman,  the  grocer,  "to  let  an  apple  fall  in  your  lap 
instead  of  skinnin'  your  shins  goin*  up  the  tree  after  it — • 
and  then  findin'  it  was  green." 

So,  though  he  wanted  the  mouth  of  his  river,  and  wanted 
it  badly,  he  did  not  rush  off,  advertising  his  need,  and  try 
brashly  to  grab  the  forty  or  fifty  acres  of  granite  and  scrub 
and  steep  mountain  wall  that  his  heart  desired.  Instead, 
he  basked  in  the  sunshine,  twiddling  his  bare  toes  ecstati- 
cally, and  let  the  huge  bulk  of  him  sink  more  contentedly 
into  the  well-reinforced  armchair  which  creaked  under  his 
slightest  motion. 

Scattergood  glanced  across  the  dusty  square  to  the  post 
office.  The  mail  was  in,  and  possibly  there  were  letters 
there  for  him.  He  thought  it  very  likely,  and  he  wanted 
to  see  them — but  movement  was  repulsive  to  his  bulging 
body.  He  sighed  and  closed  his  eyes.  A  shrill  whistle 
attempting  the  national  anthem,  with  certain  liberties  of 
variation,  caused  him  to  open  them  again,  and  he  saw, 
passing  him,  a  small  boy,  apparently  without  an  object 
in  life. 

"A-hum!"  said  Scattergood. 

The  boy  stopped  and  looked  inquiringly. 

"If  I  knew,"  said  Scattergood  to  his  bare  feet,  "where 
there  was  a  boy  that  could  find  his  way  across  to  the  post 
office  and  back  without  gittin'  sunstroke  or  stone  bruise, 
I  dunno  but  I'd  give  him  a  penny  to  fetch  my  mail." 

"It's  worth  a  nickel,"  said  the  boy. 

"Give  you  two  cents,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Nickel  or  nothin',"  said  the  boy. 

Scattergood  scrutinized  the  boy  a  moment,  then 
surrendered. 

"Bargain,"  said  he,  but  as  the  boy  hustled  across  the 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      29 

square  Scattergood  heaved  himself  out  of  his  chair  and 
padded  inside  the  store.  He  stood  scratching  his  head  a 
moment  and  then  removed  a  tin  object  from  a  card  holding 
eleven  more  of  its  like.  With  it  in  his  hand,  he  returned  to 
his  chair  and  resettled  himself  cautiously,  for  to  apply 
his  weight  suddenly  might  have  resulted  in  disaster. 

The  boy  was  returning.  Scattergood  placed  the  tin 
object  to  his  lips  and  puffed  out  his  bulging  cheeks.  A 
sound  resulted  such  as  the  ears  of  Coldriver  had  seldom 
suffered.  It  was  shrill,  it  was  penetrating,  it  rose  and  fell 
with  a  sort  of  ripping,  tearing  slash.  The  boy  stopped 
in  front  of  Scattergood  and  stared.  Without  a  word 
Scattergood  held  out  his  hand  for  his  mail,  and,  receiving 
it,  placed  a  nickel  in  the  grimy  palm  that  remained  ex- 
tended. Then,  apparently  oblivious  to  the  boy's  exist- 
ence, he  applied  himself  again  to  the  whistle. 

"Say,"  said  the  boy,  "what's  that?" 

"Patent  whistle,"  said  Scattergood,  without  interest. 

"Is  it  your'n,  or  is  it  for  sale?" 

"Calc'late  I  might  sell." 

"How  much?" 

"Nickel." 

"Gimme  it,"  said  the  boy,  and  Scattergood  gravely 
received  back  his  coin. 

"Might  tell  the  kids  I  got  more,"  said  Scattergood,  and 
watched  the  boy  trot  down  the  street,  entranced  by  the 
horrid  sound  he  was  fathering. 

This  transaction  from  beginning  to  end  was  eloquent  of 
Scattergood  Baines's  character.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
pay  more  than  he  regarded  a  service  as  worth,  but  had  not 
protested  vainly.  Instead  he  had  set  about  recouping 
himself  as  best  he  could.  The  whistle  cost  him  two  cents 
and  a  half.  Therefore  the  boy  had  come  closer  to  working 
for  Scattergood's  figure  than  for  his  own  demanded  price. 
In  addition,  Scattergood's  wares  were  to  receive  free  and 


30  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

valuable  advertising,  as  was  proven  by  the  fact  that 
before  night  he  had  sold  ten  more  whistles  at  a  profit  of 
twenty-five  cents!  No  deal  was  too  small  to  receive 
Scattergood's  best  and  most  skillful  attention. 

Now  he  opened  his  letters,  one  of  which  was  worthy  of 
attention,  for  it  was  from  a  friend  in  the  office  of  the 
Secretary  of  State  for  that  commonwealth — a  friend  who 
owed  his  position  there  in  great  measure  to  Scattergood's 
influence.  The  letter  gave  the  information  that  two 
gentlemen  named  Crane  and  Keith  had  pooled  their  timber 
holdings  on  the  east  and  west  branches  of  Coldriver,  and 
had  filed  papers  for  the  incorporation  of  the  Coldriver 
Lumber  Company. 

This  was  important.  First,  the  gentlemen  named  were 
no  friends  of  Scattergood's  by  reason  of  having  under- 
estimated that  fleshy  individual  to  their  financial  detri- 
ment in  the  matter  of  a  certain  dam  and  boom  company, 
of  which  Scattergood  was  now  sole  owner.  Second,  be- 
cause it  presaged  active  lumbering  operations.  Third, 
because,  in  Scattergood's  safe  were  ironclad  contracts  with 
both  of  them  whereby  the  said  dam  and  boom  company 
should  receive  sixty  cents  a  thousand  feet  for  driving  their 
logs  down  the  improved  river. 

And  fourth — the  fourth  brought  Scattergood's  active 
toes  to  a  rest.  Fourth,  it  meant  that  Crane  and  Keith 
would  be  building  the  largest  sawmill — the  only  sawmill 
of  consequence — that  the  valley  had  seen. 

It  was  an  attribute  of  Scattergood's  peculiar  genius  that 
even  after  you  had  encountered  him  once,  and  come  out 
the  worse  for  it,  you  still  rated  him  as  a  fatuous,  guileless 
mound  of  flesh.  You  did  not  credit  his  successes  to 
astuteness,  but  to  blundering  luck.  Another  point  also 
should  be  noted:  If  Scattergood  were  hunting  bear  he 
gave  it  out  that  his  game  was  partridge.  He  would  hunt 
partridge  industriously  and  conspicuously  until  men's 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      31 

minds  were  turned  quite  away  from  the  subject  of  bear. 
Then  suddenly  he  would  shift  shotgun  for  rifle  and  come 
home  with  a  bearskin  in  the  wagon.  Probably  he  would 
bring  partridge,  too,  for  he  never  neglected  by-products. 

"Them  fellows,"  said  he  to  himself,  referring  to  Messrs. 
Crane  and  Keith,  "hain't  aimin'  nor  wishin'  to  pay  me 
no  sixty  cents  a  thousand  for  drivin*  their  logs.  ...  I 
figger  they  calc'late  to  cut  about  ten  million  feet.  That  '11 
be  six  thousand  dollars.  Profit  maybe  two  thousand. 
Don't  see  as  I  kin  afford  to  lose  it,  seems  as  though." 

On  the  river  below  Coldriver  village  were  three  hamlets 
each  consisting  of  a  general  store,  a  church,  and  a  few 
scattered  dwellings.  These  villages  were  the  supply  cen- 
ters for  the  mountain  farms  that  lay  behind  them.  Neces- 
sity had  located  them,  for  nowhere  else  along  the  valley 
was  there  flat  land  upon  which  even  the  tiniest  village 
could  find  a  resting  place.  These  were  Bailey,  Tupper 
Falls,  and  Higgins's  Bridge.  In  common  with  Coldriver 
village  their  communication  with  the  world  was  by  means 
of  a  stage  line  consisting  of  two  so-called  stages,  one  of 
which  left  Coldriver  in  the  morning  on  the  downward  trip, 
the  other  of  which  left  the  mouth  of  the  valley  on  the 
upward  trip.  There  was  also  one  freight  wagon. 

The  morning  following  Scattergood's  second  anniver- 
sary in  the  region,  he  boarded  the  stage,  occupying  so 
much  space  therein  that  a  single  fare  failed  utterly  to 
show  a  profit  to  the  stage  line,  and  alighted  at  Bailey. 
He  went  directly  to  the  store,  where  no  one  was  to 
be  found  save  sharp-featured  Mrs.  Bailey,  wife  of  the 
proprietor. 

"Mornin7,  ma'am,"  said  Scattergood,  politely.  "Hus- 
band hain't  in?" 

"Up  the  brook,  catchin'  a  mess  of  trout,"  she  responded, 
shortly.  "  He's  always  catchin'  a  mess  of  trout,  or  huntin' 
a  deer  or  a  partridge  or  some  thin'.  If  you're  ever  aimin' 


32  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

to  see  Jim  Bailey  here,  you  want  to  git  around  afore  day- 
light or  after  dark." 

"Hain't  it  lucky,"  said  Scattergood,  "that  some  men 
manages  to  marry  wimmin  that  kin  look  after  their 
business?" 

"Not  for  the  wimmin,"  said  Mrs.  Bailey,  shortly. 

"My  name's  Baines,"  said  Scattergood. 

"I  calc'late  to  know  that. " 

"Like  livin'  here,  ma'am?" 

"Not  so  but  what  I  could  bear  a  change." 

"Um! .  .  .  Mis'  Bailey,  I  calc'late  you'd  hate  to  see  Jim 
make  a  little  money  so's  to  be  able  to  git  away  from  here 
if  he  wanted  to." 

"Him?  Only  way  he'll  ever  make  money  is  to  ketch  a 
solid-gold  trout." 

"Maybe  I'm  the  solid-gold  trout  you're  speakin'  about," 
said  Scattergood. 

She  regarded  him  sharply  a  moment.  "Set,"  she  said. 
"Looks  like  you  got  somethin'  on  your  mind." 

There  were  times  when  Scattergood  could  be  direct  and 
succinct.  He  perceived  it  was  best  to  be  so  with  this 
woman. 

"I  might  want  to  buy  this  here  store — under  certain 
conditions." 

"How  much?" 

"  Inventory,  and  a  share  in  the  profits  of  a  deal  I  got  in 
mind." 

"What's  them  conditions  you  mentioned?" 

"That  you  and  Jim  don't  mention  the  sale  to  any- 
body, and  keep  on  runnin'  the  place — for  wages — until 
I'm  ready  for  you  to  quit." 

"What's  the  deal  them  profits  is  comin'  from,  and 
how  much  you  figger  they'll  be?" 

"The  deal's  feedin'  about  five  hunderd  men,  and  the 
profits  '11  be  plenty.  I  furnish  the  capital  and  show 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      33 

you  how  it's  to  be  done.  All  Jim  '11  have  to  do  is  foller 
directions." 

Then,  lowering  his  voice,  Scattergood  went  farther  into 
particulars.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Bailey  arose,  and  screamed 
shrilly  to  an  urchin  playing  in  the  road,  "You,  Jimmy,  go 
up  the  brook  and  fetch  your  pa."  Scattergood  knew  his 
deal  was  as  good  as  closed.  Before  the  up-bound  stage 
arrived  it  was  closed.  The  Baileys  had  cash  in  hand  for 
their  store  and  Scattergood  carried  away  a  duly  executed 
bill  of  sale. 

The  following  day,  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars  cash,  he 
acquired  all  the  property  of  the  stage  line — and  when  the 
news  became  public  it  was  believed  that  Scattergood  had 
departed  from  his  wits,  for  the  line  was  notoriously  un- 
profitable and  an  aching  worry  to  its  owners.  But  the 
commotion  the  transfer  of  the  stage  line  created  was  as 
nothing  to  the  news  that  Scattergood  had  bought  a  strip 
of  land  along  the  railroad  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and 
was  erecting  a  large  wooden  building  upon  it.  When  asked 
concerning  thivand  its  purpose,  Scattergood  replied  that 
he  wasn't  made  up  in  his  mind  what  he  would  use  it  for, 
but  likely  it  would  be  an  "opry"  house. 

Following  this,  Scattergood  went  to  the  city,  where  he 
spent  much  valuable  time  interviewing  gentlemen  in  whole- 
sale grocery  and  provision  houses.  .  .  . 

Jim  Bailey  liked  to  fish — which  is  not  an  attribute  to 
create  scandal.  He  was  not  ambitious,  nor  was  he  endowed 
with  a  full  reservoir  of  initiative,  but  he  was  a  shrewd 
customer  and  seldom  got  the  worst  of  it.  One  virtue  he 
possessed,  and  that  was  an  ability  to  follow  directions — • 
and  to  keep  his  mouth  shut. 

Not  many  days  after  Scattergood  became  the  owner  of 
the  store  at  Bailey,  Jim  was  a  caller  at  the  new  offices 
of  the  lumber  company,  formed  when  Crane  and  Keith 
pooled  their  interests. 


54  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"I  come  to  see  you,"  he  told  Crane,  "because  it  seemed 
like  you  got  to  feed  your  lumberjacks,  and  I  want  to  git 
the  contract  for  furnishin'  and  deliverin'  the  provisions." 

"We've  sure  got  to  feed  'em,"  said  Crane.  "But  five 
hundred  men  eat  a  lot  of  grub.  Can  you  swing  it  if  we 
give  you  a  chance  at  it?" 

Bailey  produced  a  letter  from  the  Coldriver  bank  which 
stated  the  bank  was  willing  to  stand  behind  any  contract 
made  by  the  Bailey  Provision  Company,  up  to  a  certain 
substantial  amount. 

"Who's  the  Bailey  Provision  Company?" 

"Me  V  my  wife  mostly  holds  the  stock." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  You'll  handle  the  stuff,  deliver  it,  and  all 
that?  What's  your  proposition?" 

"Well,  havin'  been  in  business  twenty-odd  year,  I  kin 
buy  mighty  favorable.  More  so  'n  you  fellers.  All  I  want's 
a  livin'  profit.  Tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  take  this  here 
contract  like  this:  Goods  to  be  delivered  in  your  camps  at 
actual  cost  of  the  stuff  and  freighting  plus  ten  per  cent. 
We'll  keep  stock  on  hand  in  depots,  and  deliver  as  needed. 
It  '11  save  you  all  the  trouble  of  handlin'.  We'll  carry  the 
stock,  and  you  pay  once  a  month  for  what's  delivered." 

Crane  called  in  Keith,  and  they  discussed  the  proposi- 
tion. It  presented  distinct  advantages;  might,  indeed, 
save  them  money  in  addition  to  trouble.  Bailey  clinched 
the  thing  by  showing  an  agreement  with  the  stage  line  to 
transport  the  provisions  at  a  price  per  hundred  pounds 
notably  lower  than  Crane  and  Keith  imagined  could  be 
obtained,  and  went  home  carrying  the  contract  Scatter- 
good  had  sent  him  to  get. 

Scattergood  put  the  paper  away  in  his  safe  and  sat  back 
in  his  reinforced  armchair,  with  placid  satisfaction  making 
benignant  his  face.  "I  calc'late,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"that  this  here  dicker  '11  keep  Crane  and  Keith  gropin' 
and  wonderin'  and  scrutinizin'  more  or  less — when  it  gits 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      35 

to  their  ears.  Shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  it  come  to  worry 
'em  a  mite." 

So,  having  created  a  diversion  to  conceal  the  move- 
ments of  his  main  attack,  Scattergood  got  out  his  maps 
and  began  scientifically  to  plan  his  fall  and  winter 
campaign. 

Timber  was  his  objective.  Not  a  hundred  acres  of  it, 
nor  a  thousand,  but  tens  of  thousands,  even  a  hundred 
thousand  acres  of  spruce-covered  hills  was  the  goal  he 
had  set.  To  control  his  valley  he  must  have  money;  to 
get  money  for  his  developments  he  must  have  timber. 
Also,  ownership  of  vast  limits  of  growing  spruce  was 
necessary  to  the  control  of  the  valley.  He  must  own  more 
timber  thereabouts  than  anybody  else.  He  must  domi- 
nate the  timber  situation.  To  a  man  whose  total  resources 
totaled  a  matter  of  fifty  thousand  dollars — the  bulk  of 
which  was  tied  up  in  a  dam  and  boom  company  as  yet 
unproductive — this  looked  like  a  mouthful  beyond  his 
capacity  to  bite  off.  Even  with  timber  in  the  back  reaches 
selling  at  sixty-six  cents  an  acre,  a  hundred  thousand  acres 
meant  an  investment  of  sixty-six  thousand  dollars.  True, 
Scattergood  could  look  forward  to  the  day  when  that  same 
timberland  would  be  worth  ten  dollars  an  acre — a  million 
dollars — but  looking  ahead  would  not  produce  a  cent 
to-day. 

Of  timberlands,  whose  cut  logs  must  go  down  Coldriver 
Valley  to  reach  a  market,  Scattergood's  maps  showed  him 
there  were  probably  a  quarter  of  a  million  acres — 'mostly 
spruce.  Estimating  with  rigid  conservatism,  this  would 
run  eight  thousand  feet  to  the  acre,  or  twenty  billion  feet 
of  timber — 'and  this  did  not  take  into  consideration  hard- 
wood. In  Scattergood's  secret  heart  he  wanted  it  all.  All 
he  might  not  be  able  to  get,  but  he  must  have  more  than 
half — and  that  half  distributed  strategically. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Scattergood  was  content  to  wait. 


36  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

His  motto  was,  "Grab  a  dollar  to-day — but  don't  meddle 
with  it  if  it  interferes  with  a  thousand  dollars  in  ten  years." 

Scattergood's  maps  had  been  the  work  of  two  years. 
That  they  were  accurate  he  knew,  because  he  had  set 
down  on  them  most  of  the  facts  they  showed.  They  were 
valuable,  for,  in  Scattergood's  rude  printing,  one  could 
read  upon  them  the  owner  of  every  piece  of  timber,  every 
farm,  the  acreage  in  each  piece  of  timber,  with  a  careful 
estimate  of  the  amount  of  timber  to  the  acre — also  its 
proportions  of  spruce,  beech,  birch,  maple,  ash. 

Toward  the  head  of  the  valley,  where  good  timber  was 
thickest,  Scattergood's  map  showed  how  it  spread  out 
like  a  fan,  with  the  two  main  branches  of  Coldriver  and 
numerous  brooks  as  the  ribs.  Then,  down  the  length  of 
the  stream,  were  parallel  bands  of  it.  On  the  map  one 
could  see  what  this  timber  could  be  bought  for;  prices 
ranging  from  two  dollars  and  a  half  an  acre  down  the 
main  river  to  sixty-six  cents  at  the  extremity  of  the  fan. 

As  Scattergood  studied  his  maps  he  saw,  far  in  the  future, 
perhaps,  but  clearly  and  distinctly  and  certainly,  two 
parallel  lines  running  up  the  river  to  his  village;  he  saw, 
branching  off  from  a  spot  below  the  village,  where  East 
and  West  Branches  joined  to  pour  over  a  certain  dam 
owned  by  him,  other  narrower  parallel  lines  following 
river  and  brooks  back  and  back  into  the  mountains,  the 
spruce-clad  mountains.  These  parallel  lines  were  rails. 
The  ones  which  ran  close  together  were  narrow-gauge — • 
logging  roads  to  bring  logs  to  the  big  mill  which  Scatter- 
good  planned  to  build  beside  his  dam.  The  broader  lines 
were  a  standard-gauge  road  to  carry  the  cut  lumber  ta 
the  outside  world,  and  not  only  the  cut  lumber,  but  all  the 
traffic  of  the  valley,  all  the  freight,  the  manufactured 
products  of  other  mills  and  factories  which  were  to  come 
along  the  banks  of  his  river.  Here,  in  black  and  white, 
was  set  down  Scattergood's  life  plan.  When  it  was  ac- 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      37 

complished  he  would  be  through.  He  would  be  willing  to 
have  his  maps  rolled  up  and  himself  to  be  laid  on  the  shelf, 
for  he  would  have  done  the  thing  he  set  out  to  do.  .  .  . 
For,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  Scattergood  was  not  pursuing 
money  for  money  itself — his  objective  was  achievement. 

Scattergood  was  not  the  only  man  to  own  or  to  study 
maps.  Crane  and  Keith  were  at  the  same  interesting  em- 
ployment, but  on  a  lesser  scale. 

"Here's  your  stuff,"  said  Keith,  "over  here  on  the  East 
Branch — thirty  thousand  acres.  Here's  mine,  on  the  West 
Branch — close  to  thirty  thousand  acres.  We  don't  touch 
anywhere." 

"But  our  locations  put  us  in  the  driver's  seat  so  far  as  the 
timber  up  here  is  concerned .  We're  in  control.  There  are 
sixty  thousand  acres  of  mighty  good  spruce  in  that  triangle 
between  us,  and  it's  as  good  as  ours.  It's  there  for  us 
when  we  need  it.  All  we  got  to  do  is  reach  out  our  hand 
for  it.  The  folks  that  own  it  haven't  got  the  money 
to  go  ahead  with  it.  Pretty  sweet  for  us — with  sixty 
thousand  acres  in  the  palm  of  our  hand  and  not  a  cent 
invested  in  it." 

"Sweet  is  the  word.  But  what  if  somebody  grabbed 
it  off?" 

"Who'll  grab?" 

"I  think  we  ought  to  tie  it  up  somehow.  If  we  owned 
the  whole  thing  we  could  work  a  heap  more  profitably. 
Now  we've  got  to  divide  camps,  or  else  cut  off  one  slice 
or  the  other  at  a  time.  If  we  owned  the  whole  thing  we 
could  make  our  cut  where  it  would  be  easiest  handled — 
and  leave  the  rest  till  things  develop." 

"It's  safe.  And  we  can  make  it  mighty  unpleasant  for 
anybody  who  comes  ramming  into  this  region  in  a  small 
way.  Which  reminds  me  of  that  Baines — our  friend  Scat- 
tergood. Are  we  going  to  let  him  get  away  with  that  dam 
and  boom  company  we  made  him  a  present  of?" 


38  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"I  can't  see  ourselves  digging  down  for  sixty  cents  a 
thousand  for  driving  our  logs — contracts  or  no  contracts." 

"Maybe  we  can  buy  him  off." 

"Hanged  if  I'll  do  that — we'll  chase  him  off.  Look  here 
— he's  got  to  handle  our  logs.  If  he  can't  handle  them 
we've  got  a  right  to  put  on  our  own  crew  and  drive  them 
down— and  charge  back  to  him  what  it  costs  us.  Get  the 
idea?" 

"Not  exactly." 

"We  deliver  the  logs  as  specified  in  the  spring.  Let  him 
start  his  drive.  Then,  I  figure,  he'll  have  some  trouble 
with  his  men,  and  most  likely  men  he  don't  have  trouble 
with  will  get  into  a  row  with  lumberjacks  going  out  of 
camp.  See?  Men  of  his  that  we  can't  handle  we'll  pitch 
into  the  river.  Then  we'll  take  charge  with  our  men  and 
make  the  drive.  On  top  of  that  we'll  sue  Scattergood  for 
thirty  or  forty  cents  a  thousand — extra  cost  we've  been 
put  to  by  his  inability  to  handle  the  drive.  That  '11  put 
a  crimp  in  him — and  if  we  keep  after  him  hot  and  heavy 
it  won't  take  long  to  drive  him  out  of  the  valley." 

"Don't  believe  he's  dangerous,  anyhow.  That  last  deal 
was  bullhead  luck." 

"Yes,  but  he's  stirring  around.  We  don't  want  any- 
body poking  in.  There's  a  heap  of  money  in  this  valley 
for  us,  if  we  can  keep  it  to  ourselves,  and  the  sooner  the 
idea  gets  abroad  that  it  isn't  healthful  to  butt  in,  the 
better." 

"Guess  you're  right." 

If  Scattergood  could  have  heard  this  conversation  per- 
haps he  would  not  have  been  so  gayly  partaking  of  the 
softer  joys  of  life.  For  that  is  what  Scattergood  was  doing. 
He  had  polished  up  his  buggy,  put  his  new  harness  on  his 
horse,  and  was  driving  out  to  make  a  social  call.  Not  only 
that,  but  it  was  a  social  call  upon  a  lady! 

Scattergood  was  lonely  sometimes.    In  one  of  his  mo- 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      39 

ments  of  loneliness  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  a  great 
many  men  had  wives,  and  that  wives  were,  undoubtedly, 
a  remarkably  effective  insurance  against  that  ailment. 

"I  gather,"  he  said,  in  the  course  of  a  casual  conver- 
sation with  Sam  Kettleman,  the  grocer,  "that  wives  is 
sometimes  inconvenient  and  sometimes  tryin'  on  the 
temper,  but  on  the  whole  they're  returnin'  income  on 
the  investment." 

"Some  does  and  some  doesn't,"  said  Kettleman, 
lugubriously. 

"Hotel  grub,"  said  Scattergood,  "gets  mighty  similar. 
Roast  beef  and  roast  pork!  Roast  pork  and  roast  beef! 
Then  cold  roast  pork  and  beef  for  supper.  .  .  .  And  me 
obliged,  by  the  way  I'm  built,  to  pay  extry  board.  Sun- 
days I  always  order  me  two  dinners.  Seems  like  a  wife 
'u'd  act  as  a  benefit  there." 

"But  there's  drawbacks,"  said  Sam,  "and  there's 
mother-in-laws,  and  there's  lendin'  a  dollar  to  your 
brother-in-law." 

"The  thing  to  do,"  said  Scattergood,  "is  to  pick  one 
without  them  impediments.  I  also  figger,"  he  added, 
wriggling  his  bare  toes,  "that  a  feller  ought  to  pick  one 
that  could  lend  a  dollar  to  your  brother  in  case  he  needed 
one." 

"Hain't  none  sich  to  be  found,"  said  Sam. 

"I  calc'late  to  look,"  Scattergood  replied. 

He  had  already  done  his  looking.  The  lady  of  his  choice, 
tradition  says,  was  older  than  he,  but  this  is  a  base  libel. 
She  was  not  older.  She  had  not  yet  reached  thirty.  Scat- 
tergood had  first  encountered  her  when  she  came  to  his 
hardware  store  to  buy  a  plow.  On  that  occasion  her  ex- 
cellent business  judgment  and  her  powers  of  barter  had 
attracted  him  strongly.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  a  bit 
hi  doubt  if  she  hadn't  the  best  of  him  on  the  deal. . . .  Her 

name  was  Amanda  Randle. 
4 


40  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Scattergood  gave  the  matter  his  best  thought,  then 
polished  the  buggy  as  aforesaid,  and  called. 

"Howdy,  Miss  Randle?"  said  he,  tying  to  her  hitching 
post. 

"Howdy,  Mr.  Baines?" 

"I  calc'lated,"  said  he,  "that,  bein'  as  it's  a  hot  night, 
a  buggy  ride  might  sort  of  cool  you  off,  after  a  way  of 
speakin'." 

Amanda  blushed,  for  the  proffer  of  a  buggy  ride  was  not 
without  definite  significance  in  that  region. 

"I'll  git  my  shawl  and  bonnet,"  she  said. 

To  the  casual  eye  it  would  have  appeared  that  Scatter- 
good's  summer  was  devoted  wholly  to  running  his  hard- 
ware store  and  to  paying  court  to  Mandy  Randle.  .  .  . 
But  this  would  not  have  been  so.  He  was  making  ready 
for  the  winter — and  for  the  spring  that  came  after  it.  For 
in  the  spring  came  the  drive,  and  with  the  coming  of  the 
drive  Scattergood  foresaw  the  coming  of  trouble.  He  was 
not  a  man  to  dodge  trouble  that  might  bring  profit  dan- 
gling to  the  fringe  of  her  skirt. 

Coldriver  watched  with  deep  interest  the  progress  of 
Scattergood's  suit.  It  had  figured  Mandy  as  an  old 
maid — for,  as  has  been  mentioned,  she  was  close  upon 
her  thirtieth  year,  which,  in  a  village  where  eighteen  is 
the  general  age  for  taking  a  husband,  is  well  along  in 
spinsterhood.  It  was  late  in  October  when  Scattergood 
"came  to  scratch,"  as  the  local  saying  is. 

"Mandy,"  said  he,  "I  calc'late  you  noticed  I  been 
comin'  around  here  eonsid'able." 

"You  have — seems  as  though,"  she  said,  and  blushed. 
It  was  coming.  She  recognized  the  signs. 

"I  been  a-comin'  on  purpose,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Do  tell,"  said  Mandy. 

"Yes,  ma'am.  It's  like  this:  I  own  a  hardware  store 
and  some  other  prop'ty;  not  a  heap,  ma'am,  but  some. 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      41 

It's  gittin'  to  be  more.  I  calc'late,  some  day,  to  be  wuth 
consid'able.  When  a  man  gits  to  this  p'int,  he  ought  to 
have  him  a  wife,  eh?" 

Mandy  made  no  reply. 

"So,"  said  Scattergood,  "I  took  to  lookin'  around  a  bit, 
and  of  all  the  girls  there  was,  Mandy,  it  looked  to  me  like 
you  would  be  the  only  one  to  make  the  kind  of  a  wife  I 
want.  That's  honest.  Yes,  sir.  Says  I  to  myself,  'Mandy 
Handle's  the  one  for  me.'  So  I  washed  up  the  buggy  and 
hitched  up  the  horse  and  come  right  out.  I  been  comin' 
ever  since,  because  that  there  first  impression  of  mine  has 
been  bore  out  by  facts.  .  .  .  I'm  askin'  you,  Mandy,  will 
you  be  Missis  Baines?" 

"You're  stiddy  and  savin' — and  makin',"  said  Mandy. 
"Add  what  you  got  to  what  I  got,  and  we'll  be  pretty  well 
off.  And  I  aim  to  help  take  care  of  it." 

"I  aim  to  have  you  help,"  said  Scattergood.  "But, 
Mandy,  I  don't  want  you  scrimpin'  and  savin'  too  much. 
I  want  my  wife  should  have  as  good  as  the  best,  and  be 
looked  up  to  by  the  best.  The  day  '11  come,  Mandy,  when 
we'll  keep  a  hired  girl!" 

"No  extravagances,  Scattergood,  till  I  say  we  kin  afford 
it.  ...  And,  Scattergood,  you  got  to  promise  not  to  make 
no  important  move  without  consultin'  me.  I  got  a  head 
for  business." 

"Mandy,"  said  Scattergood,  "you  and  me  is  equal 
partners." 

Which,  say  both  tradition  and  history,  is  how  the 
arrangement  worked  out.  Mandy  and  Scattergood  were 
equal  partners.  Scattergood  was  to  learn  through  the 
years  that  Mandy's  was  a  good  head  for  business,  and, 
though  business  men  who  came  to  deal  with  Scattergood 
in  the  future  sometimes  laughed  when  they  found  Mandy 
present  at  their  conferences,  they  never  laughed  but  once. 
...  And,  though  Scattergood's  proffer  of  marriage  had  not 


42  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

been  couched  in  fervent  terms  of  love,  nor  had  Mandy 
fallen  on  his  overbroad  bosom  with  rapture,  theirs  was  a 
married  life  to  be  envied  by  most,  for  there  was  between 
them  perfect  trust,  sincere  affection,  and  wisest  forbear- 
ance. For  forty  years  Scattergood  and  Mandy  lived 
together  as  man  and  wife,  and  at  the  end  both  could  look 
back  through  the  intimate  years  and  say  of  the  other  that 
he  had  chosen  well  his  mate. 

It  may  be  thought  that  this  bit  of  romance  is  dropped 
in  here  by  legend  and  history  merely  to  amuse,  or  as  a 
side  light  on  the  character  of  Scattergood  Baines.  This  is 
not  so.  We  are  forced  by  the  facts  to  regard  the  matter 
as  an  integral  part  of  the  business  transaction  related  in 
this  narrative.  Not  a  minor  part,  not  an  important  part, 
but  perhaps  the  deciding  factor.  .  .  . 

John  Bones,  lawyer,  age  twenty-six,  was  a  recent  acquisi- 
tion to  Coldriver  village.  Scattergood  had  watched  the 
young  man's  comings  and  goings,  and  had  listened  to  his 
conversation.  Early  in  November  he  went  to  his  bank 
and  drew  from  deposit  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  .  .  . 
Then  he  went  to  call  on  Bones. 

"Mr.  Bones,"  he  said,  "folks  says  old  Clayt  Mosier's 
a  client  of  your'n." 

"He's  given  me  some  business,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Uh-huh!  .  .  .  Somethin'  to  do  with  title  to  a  piece  of 
timber  over  Higgins's  Bridge  way,  wa'n't  it?" 

"  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Baines,  but  I  guess  you'll  have  to  ask 
Mr.  Mosier  about  that." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  Mosier  hain't  apt  to  tell  me.  Seems  like  I 
was  sort  of  int'rested  in  that  thing.  I  can't  manage  no- 
how to  git  the  facts,  so  I  thought  I'd  talk  to  you." 

"I  can't  help  you.  I  have  no  right  to  talk  about  a 
client's  confidential  matters." 

"To  be  sure.  .  . .  How's  business?" 

"Not  very  good." 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      43 

"Not  gittin' rich,  eh?" 

Young  Bones  looked  unhappy,  for  making  both  ends 
meet  was  a  problem  he  had  not  mastered  as  yet. 

Scattergood  got  up,  closed  the  door,  and  walked  softly 
back  to  the  desk.  He  drew  from  his  pocket  the  roll  of 
bills,  and  spread  them  out  in  alluring  pattern. 

"Them's  your'n,"  said  he. 

"Mine?    How?    What  for?" 

"I'm  swappin'  with  you." 

"For  what,  Mr.  Baines?"  A  slight  perspiration  was 
noticeable  on  young  Lawyer  Bones's  brow. 

"  Information,"  said  Scattergood,  looking  him  in  the  eye. 
As  the  young  man  did  not  speak,  Scattergood  continued, 
"about  Hosier's  title  matter." 

For  an  instant  the  young  man  stood  irresolute;  then  he 
reached  slowly  over,  gathered  up  the  money  into  a  neat 
roll — while  Scattergood  watched  him  intently — and  then, 
with  suddenly  set  teeth,  hurled  the  roll  into  Scattergood's 
face,  and  leaped  around  the  desk. 

"You  git!"  he  said,  between  his  teeth.  "Git,  and  take 
your  filthy  money  with  you.  ..." 

Scattergood,  who  did  not  in  the  least  look  it,  could 
move  swiftly.  The  young  lawyer  was  abruptly  interrupted 
in  his  pastime  of  ejecting  Scattergood  forcibly.  He  found 
himself  seized  by  his  wrists  and  held  as  if  he  had  shoved 
his  arms  into  steel  clamps. 

"Set,"  said  Scattergood,  "and  be  sociable. . . .  And  keep 
the  money.  It's  your'n.  You're  hired.  I  guess  you're 
the  feller  I'm  aimin'  to  use." 

He  forced  the  struggling  young  man  back  into  his  chair, 
and  released  him — grinning  broadly,  and  not  at  all  as  a 
tempter  should  grin.  "If  it  '11  relieve  your  conscience," 
he  said,  "I  hain't  got  no  more  int'rest  in  Hosier's  affairs 
than  I  have  in  the  emperor  of  the  heathen  Chinee.  .  .  . 
But  I  have  got  a  heap  of  int'rest  in  a  young  feller  that  kin 


44  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

refuse  a  wad  of  money  when  he  can't  pay  his  board  bill. 
Maybe  'twan't  jest  a  nice  way,  but  I  had  to  find  out. 
The  man  I'm  needin'  has  to  have  a  clost  mouth — and 
somethin'  a  mite  better  'n  that — gumption  not  to  sell  out. 
...  Git  the  idee?" 

"I — yes,  I  guess  I  do — but — " 

"Any  objections  to  workin'  for  me?" 

"None." 

"All  right.  Keep  the  money.  When  you've  worked  it 
up  come  for  more.  And,  young  feller,  if  things  turns  out 
for  me  like  I  think  they  will,  you're  goin'  to  quit  bein'  a 
lawyer  one  of  these  days.  I'm  a-goin'  to  need  you  in  my 
business.  Come  over  to  my  store." 

At  the  store  Scattergood  spread  his  maps  before  the 
young  man,  and  pointed  to  a  certain  spot.  "  There's  about 
fifty  different  passels  of  timber  in  that  crotch.  I  don't 
aim  to  need  'em  all  to-day,  but  I  calc'late  on  gittin'  a  sort 
of  fringe  around  the  edge."  He  drew  his  finger  down  the 
East  Branch  and  up  the  West  Branch  in  a  sort  of  horse- 
shoe. "Your  job's  to  git  options  on  the  fringe — in  your 
own  name.  Git  the  idee?" 

"Yes." 

"Git  'em  cheap." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"There's  five  thousand  dollars  on  deposit  in  the  bank 
in  your  name.  Use  it."  When  Scattergood  trusted  a  man 
he  trusted  him,  "And  now,"  he  said,  "I  calc'late  to  raise 
a  little  dust,  so's  you  won't  be  noticed." 

Scattergood's  little  dust  consisted  of  allowing  to  be  in- 
serted in  the  local  paper  an  item  announcing  that  Scatter- 
good  Baines  had  bought  all  the  stock  and  contracts  of  the 
Bailey  Provision  Company,  which  concern  was  purveying 
food  supplies  to  all  the  camps  of  Messrs.  Crane  and  Keith. 
.  .  .  Then  Scattergood  settled  back  to  watch  the  dust  rise. 

The  dust  arose,  and  filled  the  eyes  and  noses  of  Messrs. 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      45 

Crane  and  Keith,  as  Scattergood  expected,  with  the  result 
that  Mr.  Crane  was  a  passenger  on  Scattergood's  stage  to 
Coldriver  village. 

"Howdy,  Mr.  Crane?"  said  Scattergood,  as  that  gentle- 
man belligerently  entered  the  hardware  store.  "I  was  sort 
of  lookin'  forward  to  seem'  some  of  you  folks." 

"Look  here,  Baines,"  said  Crane,  "what  are  you  butting 
into  our  game  for?  We  let  you  get  away  with  that  other 
thing,  but  this  last  deal  of  yours  makes  it  look  as  if  you 
were  hunting  trouble.  You  bought  that  provision  com- 
pany to  get  a  lever  on  us." 

"Maybe  so.  ...  Maybe  so,  but  I  wouldn't  get  het  up 
about  it.  ...  You  see,  it's  like  this:  you  folks  kind  of  did 
what  I  expected  you'd  do  on  that  dam  and  boom  deal, 
and  come  pretty  close  to  doin'  me  out  of  some  valuable 
property.  I  didn't  get  het  up,  though.  I  jest  sort  of  sat 
around  and  waited.  .  .  .  And  it  come  out  all  right.  Now, 
didn't  it?" 

"Bullhead  luck." 

"Maybe  so.  ...  Maybe  so.  Now,  here's  how  I  figger 
things  to-day.  You  and  Keith  hain't  amiable  about  that 
deal,  and  you  don't  aim  to  let  my  dam  and  boom  company 
make  any  money  out  of  you.  I  expect  you  can  manage  it. 
If  I  was  in  your  shoes,  and  was  the  kind  of  a  man  I  judge 
you  folks  be,  I'd  fix  it  so's  the  dam  and  boom  company 
couldn't  handle  the  drive.  Buy  up  the  men,  maybe,  and 
start  fights,  and  be  sort  of  forced  to  take  charge  so's  to 
get  my  drive  through.  And  then  I'd  sue  for  damages. 
.  .  .  That's  how  I'd  do.  I  calc'late  that's  about  what  you 
and  Keith  has  in  mind,  hain't  it?" 

Crane  was  purple  with  rage,  but  underneath  his  rage 
was  a  clammy  layer  of  unpleasant  surprise  that  this 
mound  of  flabby  fat  should  have  had  such  uncanny  vision 
into  his  hardly  creditable  plans. 

"You're  crazy,  man,"  he  blustered. 


46  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Maybe  so.  ...  Maybe  so.  Anyhow,  I  took  out  a  mite 
of  insurance  ag'in'  sich  a  happenin'.  I  got  me  this  here 
provision  company  to  feed  your  men.  .  .  .  Ever  happen  to 
think  what  would  happen  in  the  woods  if  your  lumberjacks 
run  short  of  grub?  Eh?  .  .  .  And  suppose  it  happened,  and 
your  men  come  bilin'  out  of  camp,  sore  as  bears  with  bee 
stings.  What  then,  eh?  Couldn't  git  another  crew  this 
winter,  maybe.  Eh?" 

Crane  blustered.  He  threatened  legal  measures,  but 
Scattergood  pointed  out  no  legal  measures  could  be  taken 
until  he  failed  to  deliver  supplies.  Also,  he  directed  Crane's 
attention  to  the  fact  that  the  provision  company  was  a 
corporation,  and  liable  only  to  the  extent  of  its  assets. 
"So,  even  if  you  got  a  judgment,  you  wouldn't  collect 
enough  to  make  no  profit.  And  your  winter's  cut  would 
be  off,  and  what  logs  you  got  cut  would  rot  in  the  woods. 
I  calculate  you'd  stand  to  git  damaged  consid'able." 

"What's  your  proposition?"  spluttered  Crane. 

"Hain't  got  none.  .  .  .  You  jest  run  back  to  Keith  and 
repeat  as  much  of  this  here  talk  as  you  can  remember. 
I'm  goin'  to  be  busy  now.  Afternoon." 

For  two  weeks  Scattergood  disappeared,  and  though 
Crane  and  Keith  sought  him  with  fever  in  their  blood,  he 
was  not  to  be  found.  He  filled  their  minds;  he  dominated 
their  conversation;  he  gave  them  sleepless  nights  and 
unpleasant  days.  .  .  .  Their  attention  was  effectively 
focused  on  the  emergency  he  had  presented  to  them. 
Scattergood  had  kicked  up  an  effective  dust. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  Scattergood  appeared  again  in 
town,  and  went  directly  to  Johnnie  Bones's  office.  Scat- 
tergood now  called  his  lawyer  Johnnie. 

"Got  'em?"  he  asked. 

"Not  all.  There's  a  fifteen-thousand-acre  strip  cutting 
right  across  your  horseshoe,  from  East  to  West  Branch, 
and  I  couldn't  touch  it.  I  got  all  the  rest.  That  one 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      47 

belongs  to  a  woman,  and  a  more  unreasonable  woman  to 
try  to  do  business  with  I  never  saw." 

"Urn!"  said  Scattergood.  "Know  where  I  been, 
Johnnie?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Gittin'  married."" 

"What?" 

"Yes.  Me  V  the  lady,  we  met  by  arrangement  in  Bos- 
ton and  got  us  a  preacher  and  done  the  job.  Marriage, 
Johnnie,  is  a  doggone  solemn  matter." 

"I've  heard  so,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Some  day,"  said  Scattergood,  "I'm  a-goin'  to  marry 
you  off.  Calc'late  I  got  the  girl  in  my  eye  now." 

"I  hope,"  Johnnie  said,  "that  you'll  be — er — very 
happy." 

"  Guess  we'll  manage  so-so. . . .  Now  about  them  options, 
Johnnie.  You  make  tracks  for  the  city  and  sort  of  edge 
up  to  Crane  and  Keith.  Might  start  by  showin'  'em  a 
deed  for  a  mill  site  down  across  from  theirs  at  the  railroad. 
Then  you  might  start  askin'  questions  like  you  was  lookin' 
for  information.  Guess  that  '11  git  up  their  curiosity 
some.  Then  you  kin  spring  your  options  on  'em.  .  .  . 
When  you've  done  that,  come  off  and  leave  'em  sweatin'. 
And  don't  mention  me.  I  hain't  in  this  deal  a-tall." 

But  before  Johnnie  could  get  to  Crane  and  Keith,  Crane 
and  Keith  came  to  Scattergood. 

"You've  got  some  kind  of  a  proposition  in  mind,"  said 
Keith,  who  did  the  talking  because  he  could  keep  his  tem- 
per better  than  Crane.  "  What  do  you  want?  " 

"Make  me  an  offer,"  said  Scattergood. 

"We'll  buy  your  provision  company — and  give  you  a 
decent  profit." 

"Don't  sound  enticin',"  said  Scattergood,  reaching 
down  and  loosening  his  shoe.  It  was  too  cold  to  omit  the 
wearing  of  heavy  woolen  socks,  so  he  could  not  twiddle 


48  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

his  toes  with  perfect  freedom,  but  he  could  twiddle  them 
some,  and  that  helped  his  mental  processes. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?" 

"I'll  sell  the  provision  company's  stock  of  provisions — 
and  nothin'  more.  ...  At  a  profit.  You  got  to  buy,  'cause 
you  can't  make  arrangements  to  git  in  grub  before  I  bring 
on  a  famine  for  you.  .  .  .  And  I  got  the  grub  stored  in 
warehouses.  That's  part  of  it.  Second,  I'll  lease  you  my 
river  for  three  years.  You  wasn't  calc'latin'  to  pay  for 
the  use  of  it.  So  you  be  obleeged  to  pay  in  advance.  I 
figgered  my  profits  on  drivin'  at  about  two  thousand  this 
year.  Give  you  a  three-year  lease  for  five  thousand.  I 
hain't  no  hog.  .  .  .  Yes  or  no." 

There  was  a  brief  conference.    "Yes,"  was  the  answer. 

"Cash,"  said  Scattergood. 

"You'll  have  to  come  to  the  city  for  it,"  Keith  said, 
which  Scattergood  was  not  unwilling  to  do.  He  returned 
with  a  certified  check  for  twenty-six  thousand  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty-four  dollars  and  nineteen  cents,  of  which 
five  thousand  was  rental  of  his  river,  and  four  thousand 
and  odd  dollars  were  his  profits  on  his  provisions.  Not  a 
bad  profit  from  a  dust-throwing  project! 

Meantime  Johnnie  paid  his  visit  to  Crane  and  Keith, 
and  came  home  to  report. 

"It  hit  them  between  wind  and  water,"  he  said. 

"Uh-huh!  .  .  .  What  did  you  judge  they  had  in 
mind?" 

"They  wanted  to  buy  me  out.  ...  Of  course  I  wouldn't 
sell.  My  clients  wanted  that  timber,  and  were  going  to 
work  to  build  their  mill.  .  .  .  The  last  they  said  was  that 
they  were  coming  up  to  see  me." 

"Uh-huh!  When  they  come,  you  mention  about  that 
strip  of  fifteen  thousand  acres  you  couldn't  buy,  eh?  Let 
on  you  couldn't  get  it." 

Johnnie  held  Scattergood  as  he  was  going  out.    "I  want 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      49 

to  account  for  that  five  thousand  dollars  you  placed  in  my 
name." 

"Go  ahead.     I  hain't  perventin'  you." 

"I  got  options  on  eighteen  thousand  six  hundred  acres 
of  timber.  The  options  cost  me  twenty-one  hundred  and 
seventy  dollars,  and  my  expenses  were  sixty-one  dollars 
and  a  half." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Cheap  enough.  What  did  the  land  cost  an 
acre?" 

"Averaged  a  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  Not  so  bad.  Now  tend  to  Crane  and  his 
quiet  friend." 

They  arrived  in  due  time,  accompanied  by  their  lawyer. 

"Mr.  Bones,"  said  the  lawyer,  "you  have  certain  options 
that  my  clients  wish  to  purchase.  Undoubtedly  they  were 
taken  in  good  faith,  but  we  would  like,  before  going 
farther,  to  know  whom  you  are  acting  for." 

"You  can  deal  with  me.     I  have  full  powers." 

"You  decline  to  disclose  your  principal?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Do  I  understand  the  project  is  to  build  a  mill  at  once 
and  start  to  cut  this  timber?" 

"That  is  my  information." 

"Aha! .  . .  May  I  ask  how  much  land  you  have? " 

Johnnie  exhibited  a  map,  on  which  was  blocked  off  the 
timber  in  question.  "You  see,"  he  said,  "there's  one 
fifteen-thousand-acre  strip  I  couldn't  get  hold  of.  It  cuts 
right  across  the  triangle  from  river  to  river." 

Crane  looked  at  Keith  and  Keith  looked  at  Crane. 

"It  belongs  to  a  woman  who  wouldn't  do  business," 
Johnnie  added. 

"What  figure  did  you  pay  for  the  land?" 

"That  is  hardly  a  fair  question." 

"What  do  you  ask  for  your  options?  That's  a  fair 
question,  isn't  it?" 


50  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"They're  not  for  sale." 

"But  we  may  make  an  offer.  It  might  be  profitable  for 
your  principals  to  sell.  My  clients  feel  they  need  this 
property,  lying  as  it  does  between  their  holdings." 

"I'll  listen." 

There  followed  whispered  arguments  among  the  three, 
resulting  in  an  offer  of  a  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents  an 
acre  for  the  whole  tract — exactly  what  Johnnie  had  agreed 
to  pay. 

"I  said  I'd  listen,"  said  Johnnie,  "but  I  don't  seem  to 
hear  anything." 

Another  conference  and  a  bid  of  two  dollars.  Johnnie 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  Two  dollars  and  a  half  an  acre 
was  finally  offered,  and  then  Johnnie  leaned  forward  and 
tapped  with  his  finger  on  his  desk.  "If  you  gentlemen 
mean  business,  let's  talk  business.  I've  got  what  you 
want.  You  can't  get  it  unless  I  want  to  sell,  and  I  don't 
want  to  sell.  I  and  my  clients  know  what  that  timber 
is  worth  to  us,  but  any  business  man  will  consider  a 
quick  profit  if  it  is  enough  profit.  In  five  years  that 
timber  will  be  worth  five  or  six  dollars  standing;  in  fif- 
teen years  it  will  be  worth  fifteen  to  twenty. . . .  But  if 
you  want  to  buy  to-day  you  can  have  it  for  three  dollars 
through  and  through." 

"We've  got  to  have  it,"  said  Crane,  and  Keith  nodded. 

"Cash,"  said  Johnnie,  for  cash  was  a  hobby  of  Scatter- 
good's. 

"Our  bank  has  made  arrangements  with  your  local 
bank  to  give  us  what  money  we  need,"  said  Keith. 

And  then,  clattering  upstairs,  came  a  small  boy.  With- 
out ceremony  he  burst  into  the  room.  "Mr.  Bones,"  he 
shouted,  "I  was  sent  to  tell  you  that  strip  of  timber  you 
tried  to  buy  from  the  lady  is  for  sale."  Then  he  whisked 
out  of  sight. 

Johnnie   shrugged   his   shoulders.     "Costs  me   some 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      51 

profit,"  he  said.  "Confound  that  woman!  .  .  .  Well,  we 
can  go  to  the  bank  and  close  this  up.  Then  you  fellows 
can  finish  up  by  buying  that  last  fifteen  thousand  acres." 

"You  bet  we  will,"  said  Crane,  savagely. 

At  the  bank  fifty-five  thousand  eight  hundred  dollars  in 
the  form  of  a  certified  check  was  deposited  in  the  hands  of 
the  cashier  to  be  paid  to  Johnnie  when  he  should  deliver 
proper  deeds  to  the  property  sold.  ...  It  represented  a 
profit  of  twenty-three  thousand  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars. 

"Now  for  the  other  parcel,"  said  Crane,  and  getting  the 
information  as  to  ownership,  he  and  his  companions  took 
buggy  to  the  spot.  It  was  a  comfortable  farmhouse,  white 
painted  and  agreeable  to  look  upon,  but  the  pleasure  of 
the  view  was  ruined  for  Crane  and  Keith  by  reason  of  a 
bulky  figure  standing  on  the  porch  in  conversation  with 
a  woman. 

"Baines!"  ejaculated  Crane.  It  sounded  like  a  swear 
word  as  he  said  it. 

The  three  rushed  the  piazza. 

"Madam,"  said  Crane,  not  deigning  to  recognize  Scat- 
tergood's  presence,  "you  own  a  tract  of  timber — fifteen 
thousand  acres.  We  hear  it  is  for  sale.  We  want  to 
buy  it." 

"This  gentleman  was  just  making  me  an  offer  for  it," 
she  said,  pointing  to  Scattergood. 

"We  raise  his  offer  twenty-five  cents  an  acre,"  said 
Crane,  and  drew  from  his  pocket  a  huge  roll  of  bills — it 
being  his  idea  of  the  psychology  of  women  that  the  sight 
of  actual  money  would  have  a  favorable  effect. 

"That  makes  two  dollars  an  acre,"  said  she,  and  looked 
at  Scattergood. 

"Two  and  a  quarter,"  said  he. 

"Two  and  a  half,"  roared  Crane. 

"Two  seventy-five,"  said  Scattergood. 


52  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Three  dollars." 

"Three  ten,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Three  and  a  quarter,"  said  Crane.  He  glared  at  Scat- 
tergood. "  If  you  want  it  worse  than  that,"  he  shouted, 
"why,  confound  you,  you  can  have  it!" 

"I  don't,"  said  Scattergood,  placidly. 

The  woman  figured  a  moment.  "That  makes  forty- 
eight  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  she  said. 
"  I  kind  of  like  even  money.  You  can  have  it  for  an  even 
fifty  thousand." 

Scattergood  looked  at  her  and  grinned.  One  might  have 
detected  admiration  in  his  eyes. 

"Done,"  said  Crane.  "We'll  get  into  town  and  close 
the  deal,  ma'am,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Your  buggy  seems  to  be  crowded,"  said  Scattergood. 
"I'll  drive  the  lady  in,  if  you  want  I  should." 

"We  want  nothing  from  you  at  all,  Baines." 

"All  right,"  said  Scattergood,  placidly,  and,  getting  into 
his  buggy,  he  drove  away.  He  drove  rapidly,  and  alighted 
at  Johnnie  Bones's  office.  Presently  he  emerged,  carrying 
a  legal-appearing  document  in  his  hand,  and  went  across 
to  the  bank,  where  he  handed  the  document  to  the  cashier. 

Presently  the  parties  appeared,  entered  the  bank,  and 
the  cashier,  upon  being  directed,  executed  a  certified  check 
to  the  lady  for  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Then  he  handed  it 
to  her,  and  the  deed  to  Mr.  Crane.  "You  see,"  said  he, 
"we  have  the  deed  all  ready  for  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Scattergood,  stepping  through  the  door. 
"I  had  it  fixed  up  for  you.  I  aim  to  be  prompt  when  I'm 
tendin'  to  my  wife's  business  matters.  Gentlemen,  I  guess 
you  hain't  met  Mrs.  Baines  real  proper  yet.  .  .  ." 

It  was  not  a  happy  moment  for  Messrs.  Crane  and 
Keith,  but  they  weathered  it,  not  suavely,  not  with 
complete  dignity,  but  after  a  fashion.  .  .  .  Their  depar- 
ture might,  perhaps,  have  been  termed  brusque. 


SCATTERGOOD  KICKS  UP  THE  DUST      53 

"Well,  Scattergood,"  said  Mandy,  "it  was  a  real  good 
deal." 

"The  way  you  h'isted  'em  to  fifty  thousand  was  what 
got  my  eye,"  he  said,  proudly.  "I  wouldn't  'a'  had  the 
nerve." 

" I  knew  they'd  pay  it,"  she  said.  "Seems  like  a  reason- 
able profit,  though  the  land's  been  a-layin'  there  unpro- 
ductive for  thirty  year.  Father,  he  give  a  thousand  dollars 
for  it,  and  the  taxes  must  'a'  been  a  couple  of  thousand 
more.  Say  forty-seven  thousand  dollars  profit.  .  .  ." 

"And  I  come  out  of  the  other  deals  perty  fair.  Made 
twenty-three  thousand  off  of  the  options,  and  nine  or  ten 
off  of  the  other  things.  Guess  the  Baines  family's  a  mat- 
ter of  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  richer  by  a  good  day's 
work." 

"But  it  can't  lay  idle,"  she  said. 

"Not  a  minnit.  We'll  buy  that  sixty  thousand  acres 
'way  back  up  the  river  for  sixty-six  cents,  like  we  planned, 
and  have  some  workin'  capital.  . .  .  And,  Mandy,  Crane 
and  Keith  hain't  got  that. timber  for  keeps.  It's  comin' 
back  to  us  some  of  these  days.  I  feel  it  in  my  bones.  .  .  ." 

"Kind  of  a  nice  wind-up  for  our  honeymoon,"  said  Mrs. 
Baines,  practically. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    MOUNTAIN    COMES    TO    SCATTERGOOD 

OCATTERGOOD  BAINES  was  on  his  way  to  the  city! 
^  An  exclamation  point  deserves  to  be  placed  after  this 
because  it  rightly  belongs  in  a  class  with  the  statement 
that  the  mountain  was  coming  to  Mohammed.  Scatter- 
good  had  fully  as  much  in  common  with  cities  as  eels  with 
the  Desert  of  Sahara. 

He  had  not  started  the  journey  brashly,  on  impulse,  but 
after  debate  and  discussion  with  Mandy,  his  wife.  Mandy's 
conclusion  was  that  if  Scattergood  had  to  go  to  the  city 
he  might  as  well  get  at  it  and  have  it  over,  exercising  the 
care  of  an  exceedingly  prudent  man  hi  the  circumstances, 
and  following  minutely  advice  that  would  be  forthcoming 
from  her.  Undoubtedly,  she  thought,  he  could  manage 
the  matter  and  return  to  Coldriver  unscathed. 

So  Scattergood  was  clambering  into  the  stage — his  stage 
that  plied  between  Coldriver  village  and  the  railroad, 
twenty-four  miles  distant.  When  he  settled  in  his  seat 
the  stage  sagged  noticeably  on  that  side,  for  Scattergood 
added  to  his  weight  yearly  as  he  added  to  his  other 
possessions.  Mandy  stood  by,  watching  anxiously. 

"Remember,"  said  she,  "I  pinned  your  money  in  the 
right  leg  of  your  pants,  clost  to  the  knee." 

"Mandy,"  said  he,  confidentially,  "I  feel  the  lump  of 
it.  I  hope  I  don't  have  to  git  after  it  sudden.  Dunno  but 
I  should  have  fetched  along  a  ferret  to  send  up  after  it." 

"Don't  git  friendly  with  no  strangers — dressed-up  ones, 
especial.  And  never  set  down  your  valise.  There's  a  white 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD   55 

shirt  and  a  collar  and  two  pairs  of  sox,  and  what  not,  in 
there.  Make  quite  an  object  for  some  sharper." 

He  nodded  solemnly. 

"If  you  git  invited  out  to  his  house,"  she  said,  "it'll 
save  you  a  dollar  hotel  bill,  anyhow,  and  be  a  heap  sight 
safer." 

"You're  right,  Mandy,  as  usual,"  he  agreed.  "G'by, 
Mandy.  I  calc'late  you  won't  have  no  trouble  mindin' 
the  store." 

"G'by,  Scattergood,"  she  said,  dabbing  at  her  eyes. 
"I'll  be  relieved  to  see  you  gittin'  back." 

There  seemed  to  be  little  sentiment  in  th3se,  their  words 
of  parting,  but  in  reality  it  was  an  exceedingly  sentimental 
passage  for  them.  Between  Scattergood  and  his  wife  there 
was  a  deep,  true,  abiding  affection.  Folks  who  regarded 
it  as  a  business  partnership — and  there  were  many  of  them 
— lacked  the  seeing  eye. 

The  stage  rattled  off  down  the  valley — Scattergood's 
valley.  He  had  invaded  it  some  years  before  because 
valleys  were  his  hobby  and  because  this  valley  offered  him 
the  opportunity  he  had  been  searching  for.  Scattergood 
knew  what  could  be  done  with  a  valley,  and  he  was  busy 
doing  it,  but  he  was  only  at  the  beginning.  As  he  bumped 
along  he  could  see  busy  villages  where  only  hamlets 
rested;  he  could  see  mills  turning  timber  into  finished 
products;  he  could  see  business  and  life  and  activity  where 
there  were  only  silence  and  rocks  and  trees.  And  where 
ran  the  rutted  mountain  road,  over  which  his  stage  was 
carrying  him  uncomfortably,  he  could  see  the  railroad 
that  was  to  make  his  dream  a  reality.  He  could  see  a 
railroad  stretching  all  the  way  from  Coldriver  village  to 
the  main  line,  and  by  virtue  of  this  railroad  Scattergood 
would  rule  the  valley. 

He  had  arrived  with  forty-odd  dollars  in  his  pocket.  His 
few  years  of  labor  there,  assisted  by  a  wise  and  business- 


56  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

like  marriage,  had  increased  that  forty  dollars  to  what  some 
folks  would  call  wealth.  First,  he  owned  a  prosperous 
hardware  store.  This  was  his  business.  It  netted  him  a 
couple  of  thousand  dollars  a  year.  The  valley  was  his 
avocation.  It  had  netted  him  well  over  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars,  most  of  which  was  growing  on  the  mountain 
sides  in  straight,  clear  spruce,  in  birch,  beech,  and  maple. 
It  had  netted  him  certain  strategic  holdings  of  land  along 
Coldriver  itself,  sites  for  future  dams,  for  mills  yet  to  be 
built — for  railroad  yards,  depots,  and  terminals.  Quietly, 
almost  stealthily,  he  had  gotten  a  hold  on  the  valley.  Now 
he  was  ready  to  grip  it  with  both  hands  and  to  make  it  his 
own.  . . .  That  is  why  he  journeyed  to  the  city. 

He  put  his  canvas  telescope  between  his  feet  so  that  he 
could  feel  it.  It  was  as  well,  he  determined,  to  practice 
caution  where  none  was  needed,  so  he  would  be  letter 
perfect  in  the  art  when  he  reached  the  dangers  of  the  city. 
Between  Scattergood's  shoes  and  the  feet  they  inclosed, 
were  sox.  Before  his  union  with  Mandy  he  had  been  a 
stranger  to  such  effeteness.  Even  now  he  was  prone  to 
discard  them  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of  range  of  her  vision. 
To-day  he  had  not  escaped,  for,  warm  as  the  day  was, 
heavy  white  woolen  sox  folded  and  festooned  themselves 
modishly  over  the  tops  of  his  shoes.  He  could  not  wriggle 
a  toe,  which  made  his  mental  processes  difficult,  for  his 
toes  were  first  aids  to  his  brain. 

However,  he  was  going  to  visit  a  railroad  president,  and 
railroad  presidents  were  said  by  Mandy  to  go  in  for  style. 
Scattergood  mournfully  arose  to  the  necessities  of  the 
situation. 

The  twenty-four-mile  ride  was  not  long  to  Scattergood, 
for  he  occupied  it  by  studying  again  every  inch  of  his 
valley.  He  never  tired  of  studying  it.  As  the  law  book  to 
the  lawyer  so  the  valley  was  to  Scattergood — something 
never  to  be  laid  aside,  something  to  be  kept  fresh  in  mind 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD   57 

and  never  neglected.  He  never  passed  the  length  of  it 
without  seeing  a  new  possibility. 

Scattergood  flagged  the  train.  The  four-hour  ride  to 
the  city  he  occupied  in  talking  to  the  conductor  or  brake- 
man  or  any  member  of  the  train's  crew  he  could  engage  in 
conversation.  He  was  asking  them  about  their  jobs,  what 
they  did,  and  why.  He  was  asking  question  after  question 
about  railroads  and  railroading,  in  his  quaint,  characteris- 
tic manner.  It  was  his  intention  to  own  a  railroad,  and 
he  was  at  work  finding  out  how  the  thing  was  done. 

Next  morning  at  seven  he  was  on  hand  at  the  terminal 
offices  of  the  G.  and  B.  An  hour  later  minor  employees 
began  to  arrive. 

"Young  feller,"  he  said,  accosting  a  pleasant-faced  boy, 
"where  d'you  calc'late  I'll  find  Mr.  Castle?" 

"President  Castle?"  asked  the  boy. 

"That/s  the  feller,"  said  Scattergood. 

"About  now  he'll  be  eating  grapefruit  and  poached 
egg,"  said  the  boy. 

"Don't  he  work  none  durin'  the  day?" 

The  boy  laughed  good-humoredly.  "He  gets  down 
about  nine  thirty,  and  when  he  don't  go  off  somewheres 
he's  mostly  here  till  four — except  between  one  and  two, 
when  he's  at  lunch." 

"  Gosh !"  said  Scattergood.  "  Must  be  wearin'  him  to  the 
bone.  'Most  five  hours  a  day  he  sticks  to  it.  Bear  up 
under  it  perty  well,  young  feller,  does  he?  Keep  his  health 
and  strength?" 

"He  works  enough  to  get  paid  fifty  thousand  a  year 
for  it,"  said  the  boy. 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Scattergood.  "I've  picked  my 
job.  I'm  a-goin'  to  be  a  railroad  president."  He  put  his 
canvas  telescope  down,  and  placed  a  heavy  foot  on  it  for 
safety.  "  Calc'late  I  kin  sit  here  and  wait,  can't  I?  " 

The  boy  nodded  and  went  on.    During  the  next  hour 


58  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

more  than  one  dozen  young  men  and  women  passed  that 
spot  to  eye  with  appreciation  the  caller  who  waited  for 
Mr.  Castle.  Scattergood  was  unaware  of  their  scrutiny, 
for  he  was  building  a  railroad  down  his  valley — a  railroad 
of  which  he  was  the  president. 

Scattergood  looked  frequently  at  a  big,  open-faced, 
silver  watch  which  was  connected  to  his  vest  in  pick- 
pocket-proof fashion  with  a  braided  leather  thong.  When 
it  told  him  nine  thirty  had  arrived,  he  got  up,  his  telescope 
in  his  hand,  and  ambled  heavily  down  the  corridor.  He 
poked  his  head  in  at  an  open  door,  and  called,  amiably, 
"Kin  anybody  tell  me  where  to  find  Mr.  Castle?" 

He  was  directed,  and  presently  opened  a  door  marked 
"President's  Office."  The  room  within  did  not  contain 
the  president.  It  was  crossed  by  a  railing,  behind  which 
sat  an  office  boy.  Behind  him  was  a  stenographer. 

"President  in?"  asked  Scattergood. 

The  boy  looked  at  him  severely,  and  replied,  shortly, 
that  the  president  was  busy. 

"Havin'  only  five  hours  to  do  all  his  work,"  said 
Scattergood,  "I  calc'lated  he  would  be  some  took  up. 
Tell  him  Scattergood  Baines  wants  to  have  a  talk  to 
him,  sonny." 

"Have  an  appointment?" 

"No,  sonny,"  said  Scattergood,  "but  if  you  don't  scam- 
per into  his  room  fairly  spry,  the  seat  of  your  pants  is  goin' 
to  have  an  appointment  with  my  hand."  He  leaned  over 
the  railing  as  he  said  it,  and  the  boy,  regarding  Scatter- 
good's  face  a  moment,  arose  and  whisked  into  the  next 
room. 

Shortly  there  appeared  a  youngish  man,  constructed  by 
nature  to  adorn  wearing  apparel. 

"Be  you  Mr.  Castle?"  asked  Scattergood. 

"I'm  his  secretary.    What  do  you  want? " 

"Young  man,  I'm  disapp'inted.     When  I  see  you  I 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD   59 

figgered  you  must  be  president  of  the  railroad  or  the  Queen 
of  Sheeby.    I  want  to  see  Mr.  Castle." 

"What  is  your  business  with  him?" 

"  'Tain't  fit  for  young  ears  to  listen  to,"  said  Scattergood. 

"If  you  have  any  business  with  Mr.  Castle,  state  it 
to  me." 

"Um!  ...  I  come  quite  consid'able  of  a  distance  to  see 
him — which  I  calc'late  to  do."  He  reached  over,  with 
astonishing  suddenness  in  one  so  bulky,  and  twirled  the 
secretary  about  with  his  ham  of  a  hand.  At  the  same 
time  he  leaned  against  the  gate,  which  was  not  fastened 
to  restrain  such  a  weight.  "Now,  forrard  march,  young 
feller.  Lead  the  way.  I'm  follerin'  you."  And  thus 
Scattergood  entered  the  presence. 

He  saw  behind  a  huge,  flat  desk  a  very  thin  man,  who 
leaned  forward,  clutching  his  temples  as  though  to  restrain 
within  bounds  the  machinery  of  the  brain  inside.  It  was 
President  Castle's  habitual  posture  when  working.  The 
temples  and  dome  of  the  head  seemed  to  bulge,  as  if  there 
was  too  much  inside  for  the  strength  of  the  restraining 
walls.  The  president  looked  up  and  fastened  eyes  that 
themselves  bulged  from  hollowed  sockets.  It  was  the 
face  of  a  man  who  ran  his  mental  dynamo  at  top  speed  in 
defiance  of  nature's  laws  against  speeding. 

"  Well?"  he  snapped.    "  Well— well?  " 

"Name's  Scattergood  Baines.  Figger  to  build  a  rail- 
road. Want  to  see  you  about  it,"  said  Scattergood, 
succinctly. 

"Not  interested.    Busy.    Get  out,"  said  Castle. 

Scattergood  dropped  the  secretary,  and  lumbered  up  to 
the  president's  desk.  He  leaned  over  it  heavily.  "I've 
come  to  see  you  about  this  here  thing,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"Either  you'll  talk  to  me  about  it  now,  or  I'll  have  to  sort 
of  arrange  so  that  you'll  come  to  me,  askin'  to  talk  about 
it,  later.  Now  you  kin  save  both  our  time." 


60  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Castle  regarded  Scattergood  with  eyes  that  seemed  to 
burn  with  unnatural  nervous  energy — it  was  a  brief  scru- 
tiny. "Clear  out,"  he  said  to  his  secretary.  "Sit  down," 
to  Scattergood. 

"Obleeged,"  said  Scattergood.  "I'm  figgerin'  on 
buildin'  a  railroad  down  Coldriver  Valley  from  Coldriver 
to  connect  with  the  G.  and  B.  narrow  gauge.  Carry  freight 
and  passengers.  Want  you  to  agree  about  train  service, 
freight  transfer,  buildin'  a  station,  and  sich  matters." 

Here  was  a  man  who  could  get  down  to  business,  Presi- 
dent Castle  perceived,  and  who  could  state  his  business 
clearly  and  to  the  point. 

"I  know  the  valley.  Been  talking  about  it.  Where  do 
you  come  in?" 

"I  calculate  to  build  the  road." 

"For  Crane  and  Keith?" 

"Eh?" 

"They're  the  men  backing  it,  aren't  they?  In  to  see  me 
about  it  last  week." 

Crane  and  Keith !  Scattergood's  career  in  the  valley  had 
been  one  of  warfare  with  Crane  and  Keith.  He  had 
beaten  them  with  his  dam  and  boom  company;  he  had 
beaten  them  in  certain  stumpage  operations.  Now  they 
were  after  his  railroad  and  his  valley. 

"Um!  .  .  ."  he  said,  and  reached  down  mechanically  to 
loosen  his  shoe.  Here  was  need  for  careful  thought. 

"I  gave  them  all  necessary  information,"  said  the 
president. 

"Don't  concern  me  none,"  said  Scattergood.  "This 
here  is  to  be  my  railroad,  and  I'm  the  feller  that's  goin' 
to  own  and  run  it.  Crane  and  Keith  hain't  in  it  at  all." 

"  You're  too  late.  The  G.  and  B.  has  agreed  to  handle 
their  freight  and  to  stop  passengers  at  their  station.  Ten- 
tatively agreed  to  lease  and  operate  the  road  when  built. 
.  .  .  Good  morning." 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTEUGOOD  61 

"I  calc'late  there's  room  for  argument,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "I  own  right  consid'able  of  that  right  of  way." 

"Railroad  can  take  it  under  the  right  of  eminent  do- 
main," said  the  president. 

"Kin  one  railroad  take  from  another  one?"  asked 
Scattergood,  a  bit  anxiously. 

"No." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Wa-al,  you  see,  Mr.  Castle,  I  got  me  a 
charter  to  build  this  railroad.  Legislature  up  and  give 
me  one." 

"  Makes  no  difference.  We've  made  an  agreement  with 
Crane  and  Keith  which  stands.  You  can't  build  your 
road,  whatever  you've  got.  Frankly,  we  won't  tolerate  a 
road  there  that  we  don't  control.  Good  morning." 

"That  final,  Mr.  President?" 

"Absolutely." 

"If  I  was  to  build  in  spite  of  you  I  calc'late  you'd  fix 
things  so's  runnin'  it  wouldn't  do  much  good  to  me,  eh? 
Stop  no  trains  for  me,  and  sich  like?" 

"Exactly." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Mornin',  Mr.  President.  If  you  ever  git 
up  to  Coldriver  don't  go  to  the  hotel.  Come  right  to  my 
house.  Mandy  '11  be  glad  to  see  you.  Mornin'." 

Scattergood  and  Johnnie  Bones,  the  young  lawyer  whom 
Scattergood  had  taken  to  his  heart,  were  studying  a  rail- 
way map  of  the  state  with  special  reference  to  the  G.  &  B. 
It  showed  them  that  the  G.  &  B.  traversed  a  southerly 
corner  of  the  state  and  had  within  its  boundaries  some 
forty  miles  of  track. 

"The  idee,"  said  Scattergood,  "is  to  make  that  forty 
mile  of  track  consid'able  more  of  a  worry  to  Castle  than 
all  the  rest  of  his  railroad." 

"Meddling  with  the  railroads  is  a  dangerous  pastime," 
said  Johnnie.  "Besides,  how  can  you  manage  it?" 

"We  got  a  legislature,  hain't  we?" 


62  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Yes,  but  the  boys  feel  pretty  friendly  to  the  railroads, 
I  understand." 

"Feel  perty  friendly  to  me,  too,"  said  Scattergood. 

"  I  doubt  if  you  could  pass  any  legislation  they  wanted 
to  fight  hard." 

"Urn!  .  .  .  I'll  look  out  for  that  end,  Johnnie.  Now 
what  I  want  is  for  you  to  draw  up  a  bill  for  me  that  '11 
sort  of  irritate  'em  where  irritation  does  the  most  hurt — 
which;  I  calc'late,  is  in  the  pocket  book.  Here's  my  notion: 
To  make  a  pop'lar  measure  of  it;  somethin'  that  '11  appeal 
to  the  folks.  We  kin  git  the  papers  to  start  a  holler  and 
have  folks  demandin'  action  of  their  representatives,  and 
sich  like.  Taxes!  That  '11  fetch  'em  every  time." 

"Yes,"  said  Johnnie,  dubiously,  "but—" 

"You  listen,"  said  Scattergood.  "It  stands  to  reason 
that  the  state  don't  realize  much  out  of  that  there  forty 
mile  of  track.  The  G.  and  B.  gits  the  use  of  the  state,  so  to 
speak,  without  payin'  a  fair  rent  for  it.  You  draw  up  a 
bill  pervidin'  that  the  railroad  has  got  to  pay  a  fee  of, 
say  a  dollar,  for  every  passenger  car  it  runs  over  them 
forty  miles,  and  fifty  cents  for  every  freight  car.  That  '11 
mount  to  a  consid'able  sum  every  year,  eh?" 

"It'll  amount  to  so  much,"  said  Johnnie,  gazing  rue- 
fully at  his  client,  "that  there  '11  be  the  devil  to  pay. 
You'll  pull  every  railroad  in  the  state  down  around  your 
ears." 

"Let  'em  drop." 

"And  I  don't  know  if  the  law  '11  hold  water — even  if 
you  got  it  passed.  It's  darn-fool  legislation,  Mr.  Baines — 
but  some  darn-fool  legislation  sticks.  I  don't  believe  this 
would,  but  it  might" 

"That's  plenty  to  suit  me,"  said  Scattergood,  slipping 
on  his  shoes  and  standing  up.  "You  git  at  it.  ...  And 
say,"  he  said,  as  a  sort  of  afterthought,  "I  want  to  git 
through  a  leetle  bill  for  my  stage  line.  Here's  about  it. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD  63 

Won't  take  more  'n  fifty  words."  He  handed  Johnnie  a 
slip,  crumpled  and  grimy,  with  lead-pencil  notes  on.  "This 
won't  cause  no  trouble,  anyhow." 

Scattergood  went  back  to  his  hardware  store  and  sat 
down  in  his  reinforced  armchair  on  the  piazza.  As  he 
sat  there  young  Jim  Hands  drove  up  with  his  girl, 
alighted,  and  went  into  the  ice-cream  parlor  for  re- 
freshment. Scattergood  studied  the  rig.  It  lacked  some- 
thing to  give  it  the  final  touch  of  style  dear  to  the  country 
youth. 

Scattergood  got  up,  and  ambled  into  his  store,  returning 
with  a  resplendent  buggy  whip — one  with  a  white  silk 
bow  tied  above  its  handle.  This  he  placed  in  the  socket 
on  the  dashboard.  Then  he  resumed  his  chair.  Presently 
Jim  emerged  with  his  girl  and  helped  her  into  the  rig. 
He  noticed  the  whip,  took  it  out  of  its  place,  and  examined 
it;  swished  it  through  the  air  to  try  its  excellence. 

"Mighty  nice  gad,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Where  in  tunket  did  it  come  from?"  asked  Jim. 

"I  stuck  it  there.  Looked  to  me  like  a  rig  sich  as  your'n 
needed  a  good  whip  to  set  it  off.  I  jest  put  it  there  to  see 
how  it  looked." 

Jim  glanced  at  his  girl,  scratched  the  back  of  his  sun- 
tanned neck,  and  felt  in  his  pocket. 

"Calc'late  I  did  need  a  whip,"  he  said.  "How  much  is 
sich  whips  fetchin'?" 

"I  kin  give  you  that  one  a  might  lower  'n  usual.  It  '11 
be  two  dollars  to  you,  seein's  you  got  sich  a  purty  girl  in 
the  buggy." 

The  girl  giggled,  Jim  flushed,  and  fished  out  two  one- 
dollar  bills,  which  he  passed  over  to  Scattergood.  Then, 
whip  in  hand,  he  drove  off  with  a  flourish.  Scattergood 
pocketed  the  money  serenely.  It  was  by  methods  such 
as  this  that  he  did,  in  his  hardware  store,  double  the  busi- 
ness such  a  store  in  such  a  locality  normally  accounted  for. 


64  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Scattergood's  most  outstanding  quality  was  that  he  never 
let  a  business  opportunity  slip — large  or  small — and  that 
he  manufactured  for  himself  fully  half  of  his  business 
opportunities.  He  had  lifted  retail  salesmanship  to  the 
rank  of  an  art. 

Again  he  got  up  and  went  inside,  where  he  wrote  a  letter 
to  a  certain  wholesale  house  with  whom  his  account  was 
large.  The  letter  said  he  had  pressing  need  for  half  a 
dozen  railroad  rails  of  certain  size  and  weight,  and  didn't 
know  where  to  get  them,  and  would  the  recipient  find  them 
and  ship  them  at  once. 

Presently  Tim  Plant,  teamster,  drove  by,  and  Scatter- 
good  hailed  him. 

"Tun,"  he  said,  "you  owe  me  a  leetle  bill.  This  hain't 
a  dun,  but  I  got  a  mite  of  work  to  be  done,  and  seem' 
things  wasn't  brisk  with  you,  I  figgered  you  might  want 
to  work  it  out — jest  to  keep  busy." 

"Sure,"  said  Tim. 

Whereupon  Scattergood  elevated  himself  to  the  seat 
beside  Tim,  and  was  driven  to  the  spot  he  had  selected 
for  the  Coldriver  terminal  of  his  railroad. 

"I  want  about  a  hunderd  feet  graded  along  here,"  he 
said,  "to  lay  rails  on." 

"Rails!  .  .  .  Gosh!  Scattergood,  you  hain't  thinkin'  of 
buildin'  a  railroad,  be  you?" 

"Shucks!"  said  Scattergood.  "I  jest  got  a  half  dozen 
rails  comin',  and  I  figgered  I'd  like  to  see  how  they'd  look 
all  laid  down  on  the  spot.  Give  folks  an  idee  how  a  rail- 
road Vd  look  if  there  was  one." 

In  which  manner  Scattergood  collected  a  doubtful  bill, 
obtained  a  quantity  of  labor  at  what  might  be  called 
wholesale  rates — and  actually  started  work  on  his  railroad. 
Actual,  patent  for  the  world  to  see.  The  railroad  was 
begun.  Not  Crane  &  Keith,  not  President  Castle,  not  a 
court  in  the  world  could  deny  that  actual  construction 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD  65 

had  begun.  Scattergood  was  insuring  himself  against 
possible  steps  by  the  enemy  to  nullify  his  charter. 

"What's  this  here  eminent  domain?"  Scattergood  asked 
Johnnie  Bones. 

"It's  a  legal  thing  that  allows  railroads  to  take  land 
necessary  to  its  operation — paying  for  it,  of  course." 

"Anybody's  land?" 

"Yes." 

"Crane  and  Keith,  f'r  instance?" 

"Yes." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Have  to  be  right  of  way,  or  jest  land  for 
railroad  yards,  or  to  build  railroad  buildin's  on?" 

"Any  land  necessary  to  a  railroad." 

"Um! . . .  Who  says  if  it's  necessary?" 

"The  courts." 

"How'dyougitatit?" 

"Start  what  are  called  condemnation  proceedings." 

"All  right,  Johnnie,  start  me  some." 

"Against  whom,  and  for  what,  Mr.  Baines?" 

"  Against  Crane  and  Keith,  to  git  their  land  down  at  the 
G.  and  B.  All  their  mill  yards,  you  know.  Don't  want  the 
mill  buildin'.  They're  welcome  to  that.  Jest  their  yards." 

"But  they  can't  run  the  mill  without  the  log  yard  and 
the  yard  to  pile  out  their  lumber." 

"Be  too  bad,  wouldn't  it?  Calc'late  I'm  a  heap  sorry 
for  Crane  and  Keith.  Them  fellers  arouses  my  sympathy 
mighty  frequent." 

"But  you're  not  a  railroad,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Yes  I  be,  Johnnie.  To-morrow  I'll  be  layin'  rails  to 
prove  it." 

"But  you  own  land  right  adjoining  Crane  and  Keith's 
yards.  Plenty  of  it." 

"Not  plenty,  Johnnie.  .  .  .  Not  plenty.  As  long  as 
Crane  and  Keith  owns  anything  in  this  neighborhood  I 
hain't  got  plenty  of  it.  Get  the  idee?" 


66  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"You  want  to  run  them  out?" 

"Wa-al,  they  hain't  been  exactly  friendly  to  me.  I 
like  to  dwell  among  friends,  Johnnie.  Lately  they  been 
makin'  a  sight  of  trouble  for  me.  Seems  like  I  ought  to 
sort  of  return  the  favor.  'Tain't  jest  spite,  Johnnie. 
Spite's  a  luxury  I  can't  afford  if  there  hain't  a  money 
profit  in  it.  Seems  like  there  might  be  a  dollar  or  two  in 
this  here  proceedin' — if  handled  jest  right." 

Johnnie  didn't  see  it,  but  then  he  failed  to  see  the 
profitable  object  in  a  great  many  things  that  Scattergood 
undertook.  It  was  not  his  business  to  see,  but  to  carry 
out  promptly  and  efficiently  Scattergood's  directions. 
The  time  had  not  yet  arrived  when  Johnnie  was  Scatter- 
good's right  hand,  as  in  the  bigger  days  that  lay  ahead. 

"Didn't  know  Crane's  sister  married  President  Castle 
of  the  G.  and  B.,  did  you,  Johnnie?" 

"  No.     What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Consid'able. . . .  Consid'able.  Goes  some  ways  toward 
provin'  to  me  I  was  expected  to  call  on  Castle  and  that 
things  was  arranged  on  purpose.  Proves  to  my  satisfac- 
tion that  Crane  and  Keith  went  out  of  their  way  to  start 
this  rumpus  with  me.  .  .  .  You  start  them  condemnation 
proceedin's  as  quick  as  you  kin." 

Johnnie  started  them.  Scattergood  waited  a  few  days; 
watched  with  interest  the  laying  of  the  first  rails  of  the 
Coldriver  Railroad,  and  then  made  the  day's  drive  to  the 
state  capital  with  drafts  of  his  pair  of  bills  in  his  pocket. 
He  hunted  up  the  representative  from  his  town — Amri 
Striker  by  name. 

"Amri,"  said  he,  "how's  your  disposition  these  days, 
eh?  Feel  like  doin' favors?" 

"Guess  a  lot  of  us  boys  feel  like  doin'  favors  for  you, 
Scattergood."  Which  was  not  short  of  the  truth,  for 
Scattergood  had  been  studying  the  science  of  politics  as 
it  was  practiced  in  his  state  and  putting  to  practical  use 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD  67 

his  education.  Indeed,  he  added  to  the  science  not  a  few 
contrivances  characteristic  of  himself,  which  made  the 
old-timers  scratch  their  heads  and  admit  that  a  new  man 
had  arisen  who  must  be  reckoned  with.  Not  yet  did 
Scattergood  hold  the  state  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  nam- 
ing governors,  senators,  directing  legislation,  as  he  did 
when  his  years  were  heavier  on  his  shoulders.  Probably, 
however,  there  was  no  single  individual  in  the  common- 
wealth who  could  exert  as  much  influence  as  he.  If  there 
was  a  single  man  to  compare  with  him  it  was  Lafe  Siggins, 
from  the  northern  part  of  the  state.  All  men  admitted 
that  a  partnership  between  Scattergood  and  Lafe  would 
be  unbeatable. 

"Got  a  bill  I  want  introduced,  Amri,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Let's  see  her,  Scattergood." 

Amri  read  the  bill;  then  he  turned  around  in  his  chair 
and  looked  out  of  the  window.  Then  he  walked  to  the 
door  and  opened  it  suddenly,  and  peered  up  and  down 
the  hall. 

"The  dum  thing's  loaded  with  dynamite,"  he  said,  when 
he  came  back. 

"Calc'lated  on  some  explosion,"  said  Scattergood.  "But 
I  calc'late  the  folks  '11  be  for  it.  Shouldn't  be  s'prised  if 
the  feller  who  introduced  it  and  made  a  fight  for  it  would 
stand  mighty  well,  back  home.  Might  git  to  be  Senator, 
Amri.  No  tellin'." 

"Can't  no  sich  bill  be  passed.  The  boys  likes  their 
passes,  and  I  guess  there's  some  that  gits  more  than  passes 
out  of  the  railroads." 

"If  this  bill's  introduced,  Amri,"  said  Scattergood,  sol- 
emnly, "there  '11  be  a  chance  for  some  of  the  boys  to  fat 
up  their  savings'  account — pervidin'  there's  a  good  chance 
of  its  passin'.  The  railroads  '11  git  scairt  and  send  quite 
a  bank  roll  up  this  way." 

"You  bet,"  said  Amri,  with  watering  mouth. 


68  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Lafe  in  town?" 

"Come  in  last  week." 

"  Lafe,  I  understand,  hain't  in  politics  for  fun." 

"Lafe's  in  right  where  he  kin  git  the  most  the  quickest." 

"Run  out  and  git  him  to  step  up  here,"  said  Scatter- 
good. 

In  half  an  hour  Lafe  Siggins,  tall,  bony,  long,  and 
solemn  of  face,  stepped  into  the  room,  and  closed  the  door 
after  him  cautiously. 

"Howdy,  Scattergood!"  he  said. 

"Howdy,  Lafe!  .  .  .  Want  your  backin'  for  a  pop'lar 
measure.  I've  up  and  invented  a  new  way  of  taxin'  a 
railroad." 

Lafe  started  for  the  door.  "Afternoon,"  he  said,  with 
a  tone  of  finality. 

"But,"  said  Scattergood,  "I  figger  you  to  do  the  fightin' 
for  the  railroads — reapin'  whatever  benefits  you  can  figger 
out  of  it  for  yourself." 

Lafe  paused,  considered,  and  returned.  "What's  the 
idee?"  he  asked. 

"I  jest  don't  want  this  bill  to  pass  too  easy,"  said 
Scattergood,  soberly,  but  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"It  wouldn't,"  said  Lafe. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Railroads  is  more  liberal,  hain't  they,  when 
there's  a  good  chance  of  their  gittin'  licked?  Suppose  this 
come  to  a  fight,  and  it  looked  like  they  was  goin'  to  git 
the  worst  of  it.  Supposin'  the  outcome  hung  on  two  or 
three  votes,  eh?  And  them  votes  looked  dubious." 

Lafe  pressed  his  thin  lips  together. 

"I  guess  I  kin  account  for  near  half  of  the  boys,  Lafe, 
and  I  guess  you  kin  line  up  clost  to  half  with  the  railroads, 
can't  you?  Well,  you  don't  stand  to  lose  nothin',  do  you? 
All  we  got  to  do  is  keep  them  decidin'  votes  where  we  want 
Jem."  Then  he  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  Lafe's  ear 
briefly. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD   69 

Lafe's  thin  lips  curved  upward  a  trifle  at  the  ends. 
"Scattergood,"  said  he,  "this  here's  an  idee.  Never 
recollect  nothin'  resemblin'  it  since  I  been  in  politics. 
What  you  after?" 

"Jest  pleasure,  Lafe.  .  .  .  Jest  pleasure.    Is  it  a  deal?" 

"It's  a  deal." 

"Amri  outside?" 

"Standin'  guard,  Scattergood." 

"When  you  go  out  send  him  in." 

Amri  opened  the  door  that  Lafe  closed  behind  him. 

"All  fixed,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  want  to  see  these 
boys  to-night."  Scattergood  handed  Amri  a  list  of  names. 
"And  say,  Amri,  here's  a  leetle  bill  you  might  jest  slip 
along  quick.  Don't  amount  to  nothin',  but  it  might  help 
me  some.  Like  to  git  the  Governor's  signature  to  it  as 
soon  as  it  kin  be  done." 

Amri  read  it  cautiously.  It  was  just  a  harmless  little 
measure  having  to  do  with  stage  lines.  "All  right,"  he 
said,  carelessly. 

Crane  was  in  President  Castle's  office,  and  his  demeanor 
was  that  of  a  man  who  has  heard  disquieting  news.  i 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  in  tones  of  reproach,  "that  he 
wasn't  safe  to  monkey  with.  Keith  and  I  thought  he  was 
just  a  fat,  backwoods  rube,  but  we  got  burnt,  and  burnt 
good.  We  were  going  to  let  him  alone,  but  you  got  us 
into  this — and  now  you've  got  to  get  us  out  again.  Know 
what  he's  done?  Nothing  much  but  start  condemnation 
proceedings  against  us  to  take  our  mill  yards  down  on  the 
railroad  for  a  site  for  a  depot  and  freight  sheds.  That's 
all.  And  us  with  close  to  a  hundred  thousand  tied  up  in 
that  mill.  If  he  puts  it  through  ..." 

"He  won't,"  snapped  Castle. 

"He's  started  to  build  his  railroad.  Actually  laying 
rails." 


70  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"So  I  heard.  That's  to  hold  his  charter Don't  you 

worry.  He  can't  build  that  road,  and  you  men  will.  As 
soon  as  I  found  out  he  had  that  charter,  and  saw  the 
possibilities  of  that  valley,  I  made  up  my  mind  he  had  to 
be  eliminated.  And  he  will  be." 

"Keith  and  [  tried  that." 

"  I  saw  him,"  said  Castle.  "  He's  no  fool.  You  thought 
he  was.  I'm  not  making  any  such  mistake.  Going  after 
you  the  way  he  has  proves  it." 

"And  he'll  be  going  after  you,  too.  You  want  to  mind 
your  eye." 

"It's  a  little  different  tackling  the  G.  and  B.,  don't  you 
think?  And  I  doubt  if  he  figures  we're  really  backing 
you." 

"What  he  figures  and  what  you  think  he  figures  are 
mighty  wide  apart  sometimes.  It  cost  me  money  to  find 
that  out." 

The  telephone  interrupted.  Castle  answered:  "Yes, 
Hammond,  I  can  see  you  now.  What  is  it?  ...  All  right. 
Come  right  up."  Hammond  was  the  railroad's  general 
counsel. 

He  appeared  presently. 

"I  thought  we  had  the  legislature  up  yonder  tamed," 
he  said,  angrily,  as  he  entered  the  office. 

"We  have." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  Take  a  look  at  this."  He  handed  to  the 
president  Scattergood's  novel  taxation  measure.  "What 
you  make  of  that?  Who's  behind  it?  What's  the  game?" 

Castle  read  it  carefully;  then  he  turned  to  Crane. 
"You  win,"  he  said,  succinctly.  "Your  friend  Scatter- 
good  has  brought  the  fight  right  on  to  our  front  porch.  .  .  . 
What  about  it,  Hammond?  Will  such  a  torn-fool  law 
stand  water?" 

"Can't  tell.  My  judgment  is  that  it  wouldn't,  but  it's 
such  a  fool  law  that  nobody  can  tell.  And  if  it  stuck — " 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD   71 

He  sucked  in  his  breath.  "  It  would  give  every  jay  legis- 
lature a  show  to  rough  the  railroads  beautifully." 

"It  would  hurt.  ...  Of  course  it  mustn't  pass.  Get 
after  it  and  don't  let  any  grass  grow.  Kill  it  in  com- 
mittee. That's  the  safest  way.  .  .  .  Have  Lafe  Siggins 
look  after  it." 

Hammond  bustled  out,  and  Castle  turned  to  his  brother- 
in-law.  "I  underestimated  this  Scattergood  some,"  he 
said.  "Now  I'll  go  after  him.  .  .  .  For  reasons  of  neces- 
sity we  will  discontinue  all  train  service  at  the  flag 
station  at  the  mouth  of  Coldriver  Valley.  That  '11  leave 
his  stage  line  dangling  in  the  air.  Just  for  a  taste  of  what 
we  can  do.  ...  I'll  have  Hammond  look  after  that  con- 
demnation matter  for  you." 

"He'll  be  coming  around  to  offer  to  sidetrack  that  legis- 
lation if  you'll  let  him  build  his  railroad." 

"Probably.     I  guess  we  won't  trade." 

But  Scattergood  did  not  come  around  to  offer  a  com- 
promise. He  seemed  to  have  lost  interest  in  the  matter 
wholly  and  to  give  his  time  solely  to  his  hardware  store. 
But  the  Transient  Car  bill,  as  it  came  to  be  called,  began 
mysteriously  to  attract  unprecedented  attention.  The 
press  of  the  state  showed  unusual  interest  in  it.  In  short, 
it  became  the  one  big  measure  of  the  legislative  session. 
Everything  else  was  secondary  to  it.  When  a  railroad 
measure  is  hotly  discussed  in  every  loafing  place  in  a  state 
there  is  a  measure  that  legislators  handle  with  gloves.  It 
is  loaded.  When  the  home  folks  get  really  interested  in  a 
thing  they  are  apt  to  demand  explanations.  Wherefore 
it  was  but  natural  that  President  Castle's  experts  found 
it  impossible  to  strangle  the  bill  in  committee.  It  was 
reported  out,  and  then  Hammond  found  it  wise  to  journey 
to  the  capital  to  take  charge  of  things  himself. 

At  the  end  of  a  week,  Mr.  Hammond,  general  counsel 
for  the  G.  &  B.  and  expert  handler  of  legislatures,  was 


72  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

forced  to  write  President  Castle  that  he  faced  a  condition 
new  in  his  broad  experience. 

"The  chances,"  he  said,  "are  more  than  even  that  this 
bill  passes.  Men  we  have  been  able  to  depend  on  are 
refractory.  Siggins  is  doing  his  best,  but  so  far  he  has 
been  able  to  account  for  only  forty-five  per  cent  of  the 
votes.  The  strange  thing  about  it,"  he  finished,  with 
genuine  amazement,  "is  that  the  other  side  doesn't  seem 
to  be  spending  a  penny." 

Which  was  perfectly  true.  Neither  in  that  fight  nor 
in  any  of  the  scores  of  legislative  battles  in  which  Scatter- 
good  took  part  in  his  after  life  did  he  spend  a  dollar  to 
buy  a  vote  or  to  influence  legislation.  Perhaps  it  was 
scruple  on  his  part;  perhaps  economy;  perhaps  he  felt 
that  his  own  peculiar  methods  were  more  efficacious  than 
mere  barter  and  sale. 

From  end  to  end,  the  state  was  in  excitement  over  the 
measure.  Skillful  work  had  made  it  seem  a  vital  thing 
to  the  people,  and  hundreds  of  letters  and  telegrams 
poured  in  to  representatives.  It  looked  as  if  public  opin- 
ion were  overwhelmingly  with  the  bill.  It  was  Scatter- 
good's  first  use  of  the  weapon  of  public  opinion.  In  this 
battle  he  learned  its  potentialities.  Men  who  knew  him 
well  and  were  close  to  him  in  political  matters  declare 
he  became  the  most  skillful  creator  of  a  fictitious  public 
opinion  that  ever  lived  in  the  state.  It  was  in  keeping 
with  his  methods  that  he  always  seemed  to  be  acting  in 
response  to  a  demand  from  the  public  rather  than  that 
he  excited  the  public  to  demand  what  Scattergood  wanted. 
But  that  was  when  Scattergood's  hair  was  touched  with 
gray  and  his  girth  had  increased  by  twoscore  pounds. 

"I  can't  find  any  trace  of  Scattergood  Baines  in  this 
matter,"  Hammond  reported  to  President  Castle. 

That  was  true.  Scattergood  stayed  at  home,  tending 
vigorously  to  his  hardware  business.  Representatives  did 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD  73 

not  call  on  him;  he  did  not  call  on  them.  No  trails  led 
to  his  door. 

President  Castle  had  expected  overtures  from  Scatter- 
good,  but  none  materialized.  To  a  man  of  Castle's  ex- 
perience this  was  more  than  strange;  it  was  uncanny. 
He  began  to  consider  the  situation  really  serious.  Was 
the  man  so  confident  as  his  silence  indicated? 

"Get  the  votes,"  he  wired  succinctly  to  Hammond, 
and  Hammond,  reading  the  message  correctly,  dipped 
into  the  emergency  barrel  of  the  railroad  with  generous 
hands.  Prosperity  had  come  to  that  legislature.  Yet  he 
was  able,  at  the  end  of  another  two  weeks,  to  guarantee 
six  votes  less  than  a  majority.  The  opposition  had  cap- 
tured one  more  vote  than  he,  and  needed  but  five  to  pass 
their  measure.  Hammond  faced  the  task  of  acquiring 
those  five  unplaced  legislators,  and  of  weaning  one  away 
from  Scattergood — and  the  bill  was  due  to  come  up  in 
the  House  in  two  days. 

That  day  President  Castle  himself  arrived  in  the  capi- 
tal, and,  after  discussing  the  situation  with  Hammond, 
wired  Scattergood,  asking  for  an  appointment.  The 
mountain  was  going  to  Mohammed.  Scattergood  re- 
plied not  a  word. 

"I  calc'late,"  he  said  to  Mandy,  "that  President  Cas- 
tle's raisin'  him  a  blister." 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which  the  bill  was  to 
come  to  a  vote  Scattergood  appeared  unostentatiously 
in  the  capital,  but  word  of  his  presence  flashed  from 
tongue  to  tongue  with  miraculous  speed.  Word  of  it 
came  to  President  Castle,  who  pocketed  his  pride  for 
excellent  business  reasons,  and  sent  up  his  card  to 
Scattergood's  room. 

"Guess  I  kin  see  him  a  minute,"  said  Scattergood,  and 
the  president  ascended  with  thoughts  in  his  heart  which 
Scattergood  was  well  able  to  read. 


74  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Baines,"  said  Castle,  without  preface,  "what  do  you 
want?" 

"Nothin*  you've  got,  I  calc'late,"  said  Scattergood, 
serenely. 

"You're  back  of  this  infernal  bill.  The  railroads  can't 
permit  it  to  pass.  It  won't  pass." 

"Then  what  you  wastin'  your  time  on  me  for?"  Scatter- 
good  asked. 

"If  we  let  you  build  your  infernal  little  railroad  will 
you  drop  out  of  this?" 

"Hain't  in  it  to  speak  of." 

"Will  you  take  your  hands  off — if  we  give  you  your 
railroad  and  guarantee  train  service?" 

"Can't  seem  to  see  my  way  clear." 

"  What  do  you  gain  by  passing  this  bill?  You're  nothing 
ahead.  It  won't  give  you  your  railroad.  It  won't  give 
you  anything." 

"Calc'late  you're  right." 

"Listen  to  reason,  man.  You  want  something.  What 
is  it?" 

"Me?  .  .  .  Um!  .  .  .  I'm  a  plain  kind  of  a  man,  Mr. 
President,  with  a  plain  kind  of  a  wife.  Hain't  never  met 
Mandy,  have  you?  Wa-al,  her  and  me  is  perty  contented 
with  life.  We  got  a  good  hardware  store  .  .  ." 

"Rot!    What  do  you  want?" 

Scattergood  leaned  forward,  his  round  face,  with  its 
bulging  cheeks,  as  expressionless  as  some  particularly  big 
and  ruddy  apple. 

"If  you're  achin'  to  do  favors  for  me,  Mr.  President, 
you  kin  drop  in  along  about  supper  time.  Right  now  I 
can't  think  of  a  thing  you  kin  do  for  me.  But  I'll  try. 
.  .  .  I'll  spend  the  afternoon  thinkin'  over  all  the  things 
you  might  be  able  to  do,  and  I'll  try  to  pick  one  of  'em 
out. ...  I  got  to  see  a  hardware  salesman  now.  Afternoon, 
Mr.  President." 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD   75 

"Baines,"  said  Castle,  losing  his  temper  for  the  first 
time  in  a  dozen  years,  "we'll  smash  you  for  this.  We'll 
drive  you  out  of  the  state.  We'll — " 

"Don't  slam  the  door,"  said  Scattergood,  placidly;  "it 
might  disturb  the  other  folks  in  the  hotel." 

That  afternoon  the  galleries  of  the  House  were  jammed. 
Below,  in  their  seats,  the  legislators  sat  uncomfortably. 
There  was  a  tenseness  in  the  air  which  made  men's  skin 
tingle.  The  Transient  Car  bill  was  about  to  come  to  a 
vote.  Everything  had  been  done  by  both  sides  that 
could  be  done.  There  could  be  no  more  outside  interfer- 
ence; no  more  money  influence.  It  was  all  over.  Now 
the  matter  was  in  the  hands  of  those  uneasy  men,  who, 
even  now,  might  hold  steadfast  to  their  principles  or  to 
the  money  that  had  bought  them  or  to  the  power  that 
had  compelled  them — or  who  might,  for  reasons  secret  to 
their  several  souls,  change  sides  with  astonishing  sudden- 
ness, upsetting  all  calculations.  Such  things  have  been 
done.  .  .  .  But,  even  without  the  happening  of  the  unex- 
pected, no  man  could  say  how  the  votes  would  fall. 
Neither  side  had  obtained  a  sure  majority. 

The  preliminary  formalities  went  forward.  Then  began 
the  roll  call,  and  from  his  place  in  the  gallery  Hammond 
checked  off  on  his  list  name  after  name,  as  they  voted 
yea  or  nay — and  President  Castle  watched  and  kept  men- 
tal count.  Scattergood  was  not  present.  The  thing  was 
even,  dangerously  even.  For  every  yea  there  sounded  a 
balancing  nay.  The  count  stood  sixty-one  for,  sixty 
against .  .  .  with  ten  more  votes  to  call.  . . .  With  six  votes 
to  call  the  count  was  even. 

"Whittaker,"  called  the  clerk's  monotonous  voice. 

"Nay." 

"Bobbins." 

"Nay." 

"Baker." 


76  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Nay." 

"Hooper." 

"Nay." 

"Bolger." 

"Nay." 

"Brock." 

"Nay." 

The  six  final  votes  had  been  cast — and  cast  solidly 
against  Scattergood's  bill.  Scattergood  was  beaten,  de- 
cisively, destructively  beaten.  Not  only  was  he  defeated 
here,  but  he  was  smashed  where  the  damage  was  even 
more  destructive — in  his  prestige.  He  was  a  discredited 
political  leader.  .  .  .  Lafe  Siggins  could  not  restrain  a 
chuckle,  for  Scattergood  had  played  into  his  hands.  Scat- 
tergood had  allowed  himself  to  be  eliminated  from  calcu- 
lation in  the  state,  leaving  Siggins  as  sole,  undisputed,  vic- 
torious boss.  It  had  been  a  clever  scheme  that  Scatter- 
good  had  outlined  to  Lafe — so  clever  that  Lafe  hadn't 
seen  the  great  good  that  lay  in  it  for  himself — until  days 
later.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  It  was  just  another 
case  of  a  man  unfamiliar  with  the  game  overplaying  his 
hand. 

President  Castle  shook  hands  openly  with  Hammond. 
True,  there  was  a  demonstration  of  disapproval  from  the 
gallery — but  that  was  only  the  people!  It  did  not  signify. 

"We  got  him,"  said  Castle. 

"But  it  was  a  close  squeak." 

Castle  looked  grimly  down  on  the  representatives,  now 
huddled  together  hi  whispering  groups. 

"I  don't  often  have  the  impulse  to  crow  over  a  man," 
he  said,  "but  this  Barnes  was  so  infernally  cocky.  He 
told  me  I  might  see  him  at  six  o'clock  and  he'd  tell  me 
what  I  could  do  for  him.  Well,  I'm  going  to  see  him." 
His  voice  was  grim  and  forbidding. 

On  the  way  they  picked  up  Siggins  and  invited  him  to 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD  77 

dinner.  The  three  went  to  the  hotel,  where,  sitting  calmly, 
placidly  in  the  lobby,  was  Scattergood. 

Castle  walked  directly  to  him.  "You  were  going  to 
tell  me  what  I  could  do  for  you — at  this  hour,  I  believe." 

"Did  say  somethin'  like  that." 

Castle  eyed  Scattergood  venomously,  found  him  a 
hard  man  to  crow  over.  He  admitted  Scattergood  to  be 
a  good  loser. 

"I  expect  you'll  be  asking  favors  for  some  time,"  Castle 
said,  "and  not  getting  them.  I  told  you  we'd  lick  you — 
and  we  have.  I  told  you  we'd  smash  you  and  drive  you 
out  of  the  state.  We'll  do  that  just  as  surely  .  . ." 

"Maybe  so,"  said  Scattergood,  phlegmatically.  "May- 
be so.  Nobody  kin  tell.  .  .  .  Howdy,  Siggins!  Lookin* 
mighty  jubilant  about  somethin'.  Glad  to  see  it.  ... 
And  Mr.  Hammond  seems  pleased,  too.  Done  a  good 
job  of  work,  didn't  you?  Bet  your  boss  is  pleased  with 
you,  eh?" 

"When  you're  ready  to  turn  your  chunks  of  right  of 
way  over  to  Crane  and  Keith,  let  them  know,"  said  Castle. 
"I  guess  the  G.  and  B.  loses  interest  in  you  from  this  on — 
or  it  will  presently." 

"Jest  a  jiffy,"  said  Scattergood,  as  the  trio  turned  away. 
"Seems  like  you  was  goin'  to  do  a  favor  for  me.  Well, 
you  hain't  done  it  yet. . .  .  Guess  I  need  a  favor  perty  bad 
at  this  minute,  eh?  Wa-al,  'tain't  a  big  one.  Jest  sort  of 
cast  your  eye  over  this  here."  Scattergood  handed  Castle 
a  folded  paper  of  documentary  appearance. 

Castle  snatched  it  and  read  it.  It  was  brief.  Not  more 
than  fifty  words.  It  was  a  copy  of  a  bill  having  to  do  with 
stage  lines,  passed  by  both  Houses  and  signed  by  the 
Governor.  It  provided  that  wherever  any  stage  line  or 
other  transportation  company  of  whatsoever  nature  inter- 
sected the  line  of  a  railroad  or  terminated  on  such  line, 
the  railroad  should  be  compelled  to  establish  a  regular 


78  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

station  on  demand,  for  the  handling  of  passengers  and 
freight,  and  should  stop  all  trains  except  through  trains, 
and  should  establish  sidetracks  for  the  handling  and  trans- 
fer of  freight. 

A  few  formal  words,  backed  by  the  authority  of  the 
state,  compelling  the  G.  &  B.  to  do  all,  and  more  than  all, 
that  Scattergood  had  requested  of  them!  A  few  words 
making  possible  Scattergood's  railroad  more  surely  than 
agreement  with  President  Castle  could  have  made  it! 

"While  you  folks  was  busy  with  the  Transient  Car  bill," 
Scattergood  said,  amiably,  "the  boys  sort  of  tended  to 
this  for  me.  If  I'd  thought  Hammond  was  int'rested  I 
might  have  called  it  to  his  attention.  But  I  figgered  he 
was  paid  to  watch  out  for  sich  things,  and  I  didn't  want 
to  interfere  none.  Jest  as  well,  I  take  it." 

Castle  was  scowling  at  Hammond,  momentarily  at  a 
loss  for  words.  Siggins  was  gazing  at  Scattergood  with 
thin  lips  parted  a  trifle.  His  joy  was  blanketed. 

"Somethin*  else,"  said  Scattergood,  looking  from  one 
to  another,  and  finally  at  Lafe.  "Siggins  figgered  that  my 
gittin'  a  beatin'  on  this  bill  would  sort  of  make  him  boss 
of  the  state.  You  see,  Mr.  President,  this  here  bill  wasn't 
meant  to  pass.  It  was  fixed  up  for  a  couple  of  reasons. 
One  was  to  git  something  which  I'll  tell  you  about  in  a 
second.  Another  was  to  make  the  boys  in  the  House  sort 
of  prosperous  like,  and  grateful  to  me  for  gittin'  'em  the 
prosperity — with  the  railroads  payin'  for  it.  The  last 
was  to  settle  things  between  Lafe  and  me.  I  sort  of  wanted 
Lafe  and  the  boys  in  politics  to  understand  which  was 
which.  .  .  .  And  they'll  understand.  .  .  .  Now,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent, the  thing  I  wanted  to  git  was  in  two  parts.  First 
one  was  to  git  your  attention  on  this  here  bill  so's  you 
wouldn't  notice  my  little  stage-line  thing.  The  other  was 
pretty  nigh  as  valuable.  I  got  it.  It's  a  list  of  every  man 
in  this  legislature  that  took  money  for  a  vote  on  this  thing, 


THE  MOUNTAIN  COMES  TO  SCATTERGOOD  79 

with  how  much  money  he  took  and  the  hour  and  minute 
it  was  paid  him — and  who  by.  Seems  like  I  managed  to 
git  your  name,  Mr.  President,  connected  with  them  last 
six  votes  that  you  took  over  body  and  britches  this  noon. 
And  I  kin  prove  every  item  of  it. ...  With  the  folks  around 
the  state  feelin'  like  they  do,  I  shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  I 
could  make  a  heap  of  trouble." 

President  Castle  was  a  big  man  or  he  would  not  hold 
the  position  that  was  his.  He  knew  when  a  fight  was  over. 
"You  win,"  he  said,  tersely.  "Name  it." 

"  Two  things.  First  off  I  want  an  agreement  with  your 
road,  made  by  a  full  vote  of  the  board  of  directors, 
agreein'  to  do  jest  what  this  bill  pervides — in  case  of 
emergencies.  And  second,  I  want  your  folks  should  handle 
the  bonds  of  my  railroad — construction  bonds.  Guess  I 
could  manage  it  without,  but  I  need  my  money  for  some- 
thin'  else.  About  two  hunderd  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  bonds  '11  do  it." 

Castle  shrugged  his  shoulders — seeing  possibilities  for 
the  future.  However,  he  knew  Scattergood  had  weighed 
those  possibilities  himself. 

"Agreed,"  he  said.  There  was  a  moment's  silence.  "By 
the  way,"  he  asked,  "what  was  the  idea  of  the  condemna- 
tion proceedings  against  Crane  and  Keith?" 

"Jest  a  mite  of  business.  With  the  railroad  goin',  I 
need  a  good  mill  up  on  a  site  I  got  below  Coldriver.  Seems 
like  Crane  and  Keith  got  a  might  timid,  and  yestiddy 
they  up  and  sold  out  that  mill  to  a  friend  of  mine — actin' 
for  me — for  fifty-five  thousand  dollars.  Figger  I  got  it 
dirt  cheap.  Wuth  close  to  a  hunderd  thousand,  hain't 
it?  ...  I'm  goin'  to  move  it  to  Coldriver,  lock,  stock,  and 
barrel." 

"Baines,"  said  Castle,  presently,"  the  G.  and  B.  will  keep 
hands  off  your  valley.  It  will  be  better  for  us  to  work 
together  than  at  odds.  Suppose  we  bury  the  hatchet  and 


80  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

work  for  each  other's  interest.  .  .  .  I'm  paid  to  know  a 
coming  man  when  I  see  one." 

"Was  hopin'  you'd  see  it  that  way,  Mr.  President.  I 
hain't  one  that  hankers  for  strife  .  .  .  not  even  with  Lafe, 
here,  if  he  can  figger  he's  willin'  to  admit  what  he's  got  to 
admit." 

"I  take  my  orders  from  you,"  said  Lafe. 

In  which  authentic  manner  Scattergood  Baines,  in  one 
transaction,  made  possible  and  financed  his  railroad,  ob- 
tained his  first  mill,  and  became  undisputed  political  dic- 
tator of  his  state.  Characteristically,  there  was  charged 
to  expense  for  the  whole  transaction  a  sum  that  a  very 
ordinary  man  could  earn  in  a  week.  Scattergood  loved 
cheap  results. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HE    DEALS    IN    MATCHMAKING 

IT  is  known  to  all  the  world  that  Scattergood  came  to 
own  the  stage  line  that  plied  down  the  valley  to  the 
railroad,  but  minute  research  and  a  sifting  of  dubious  tes- 
timony was  required  to  unearth  the  true  details  of  that 
transaction  in  which  the  peg  leg  of  Deacon  Pettybone 
figured  in  a  dominant  manner. 

Scattergood  had  long  had  his  eye  on  the  stage  line, 
because  his  valley,  the  Coldriver  Valley,  was  dominated 
by  it.  Transportation  was  king,  and  Scattergood  knew 
that  if  his  vision  of  developing  that  valley  and  of  acquiring 
riches  for  himself  out  of  the  development  were  ever  to 
become  actuality,  he  must  first  control  the  means  of  trans- 
porting passengers  and  commodities.  But  the  stage  line 
was  not  to  be  acquired,  because  Deacon  Pettybone  and 
Elder  Hooper,  who  owned  it  in  partnership,  had  not  been 
on  speaking  terms  for  twenty  years.  So  bitter  was  the 
feud  that  either  would  have  borne  cheerfully  a  loss  to 
prevent  the  other  from  making  a  profit.  The  stage  line 
was  a  worry  and  an  annoyance  to  both  of  them,  but  neither 
of  them  would  sell,  because  he  was  afraid  his  enemy  might 
derive  some  advantage. 

As  Scattergood  well  knew,  the  feud  had  its  inception  in 
religion  as  religion  is  practiced  in  that  community.  Dea- 
con Pettybone  had  been  born  a  Congregationalist.  Elder 
Hooper  was  the  sturdiest  pillar  of  the  Congregationalist 
church.  They  had  grown  up  together  from  boyhood,  as 
chums,  and  later  as  business  partners,  but  at  the  mature 


82  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

age  of  forty  Deacon  Pettybone  had  attended  a  revival  ser- 
vice in  the  Baptist  church.  When  he  came  out  of  that  ser- 
vice the  mischief  was  done — he  had  been  converted  to  the 
tenets  of  immersion  and  straightway  withdrew  from  the 
church  of  his  birth  to  enter  the  fold  of  its  bitterest  rival  in 
Coldriver,if  it  were  possible  for  the  Baptists  to  be  bitterer 
rivals  of  the  Congregationalist  than  the  Methodists  and 
Universalists  were.  Coldriver's  population  was  less  than 
four  hundred.  It  required  a  great  deal  of  religion  to  get 
that  four  hundred  safely  past  the  snares  and  pitfalls  of  Cold- 
river,  for  there  were  no  fewer  than  five  full-grown  churches, 
of  which  the  Roman  Catholic  was  the  fifth,  and  a  body  of 
folks  who  met  in  one  another's  houses  of  a  Sabbath  under 
the  denomination  of  the  United  Brethren.  Five  churches 
worshiped  God  through  the  crackling  parchment  of  their 
mortgages,  when  one,  or  at  most  two,  might  have  pointed 
the  way  to  heaven  free  and  clear,  and  with  no  worries  over 
semiannual  interest. 

When  Pettybone  turned  apostate  there  was  such  a 
commotion  as  had  never  before  disturbed  Coldriver;  it 
subsided,  and  was  forgotten  as  the  years  dragged  on,  by 
all  but  Pettybone  and  Hooper,  who  continued  tenaciously 
to  hate  each  other  with  a  bitter  hatred — and  the  more  so 
that  their  financial  affairs  were  so  inextricably  mingled. 

Even  when  Pettybone's  leg  was  mashed  by  a  log,  and 
he  lay  between  life  and  death,  there  was  no  hint  of  a 
reconciliation;  and  when  Pettybone  appeared  again  on 
Coldriver's  streets,  hobbling  on  a  peg  leg  of  his  own  fash- 
ioning, the  fires  of  vindictiveness  burned  higher  and  hotter 
than  ever. 

The  situation  would  have  been  hopeless  to  anybody  not 
possessed  of  Scattergood's  optimism  and  resource.    It  is 
reported  that  Scattergood  propounded  a  saying  early  in 
his  career  at  Coldriver,  to  this  effect: 
1^  "Anybody  kin  git  anythin'  done  if  he  wants  it  hard 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  83 

enough.  Trouble  is,  most  folks  hain't  got  a  sufficient 
capacity  for  wantinV 

Scattergood's  capacity  for  wanting  was  abnormal,  and 
his  ability  to  want  until  he  got  was  what  made  him  the 
remarkable  figure  in  the  life  of  his  state  that  he  was  des- 
tined to  become. 

Scattergood  was  sitting  on  the  piazza  of  his  hardware 
store,  basking  in  the  sunshine,  and  gazing  up  the  dusty 
road  which  passed  between  Coldriver's  business  structures, 
and  disappeared  over  the  hill.  His  eyes  were  half  closed, 
and  his  bulk,  which  later  became  phenomenal,  filled  com- 
fortably the  specially  reinforced  chair  which  came  to  be 
called  his  throne.  Pliny  Pickett  slouched  around  the  cor- 
ner, and,  as  he  approached,  the  unmistakable  odor  of  horses 
became  noticeable.  Inhabitants  of  Coldriver  knew  when 
Pliny  came  into  a  room  even  if  their  backs  were  turned. 

"Mornin',  Pliny,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Mornin',  Scattergood." 

"Fetch  any  passengers?" 

"Drummer  V  a  fat  woman  to  visit  the  Bogles.  Say, 
Scattergood,  looks  like  you're  goin'  to  have  competition." 

"Urn!..'.  Don't  say." 

"Hardware,"  said  Pliny,  nasally.  "Station's  heaped 
with  it.  Every  merchant  in  town's  layin'  in  a  stock." 

"Do  tell,"  said  Scattergood,  without  emotion.  "Ket- 
tleman  and  Locker?"  They  were  the  grocers. 

Pliny  nodded.  "An'  Lumley  and  Penny  mixin'  it  in 
with  dry  goods,  and  Atwell  minglin'  it  with  clothin'." 

Scattergood  reached  down  and  unlaced  his  shoes.  His 
mind  worked  more  freely  when  his  toes  were  unconfined, 
so  that  he  might  wriggle  them  as  he  reasoned.  Pliny  knew 
the  sign  and  grinned. 

"Much  'bleeged,"  said  Scattergood,  and  Pliny  moved 
off. 

"  Pliny,"  said  Scattergood. 


84  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Eh?" 

"Was  you  thinkin'  of  buyin'  a  stove?" 

"No." 

"Could  think  about  it,  couldn't  you?" 

"Might  manage  it." 

"Folks  thinkin'  of  buyin'  stoves  gits  prices,  don't  they? 
Kind  of  inquires  around  to  see  where  they  kin  buy 
cheapest?" 

"Most  does." 

"G'-by,  Pliny." 

"G'-by,  Scattergood." 

Something  of  the  sort  was  not  unanticipated  by  Scatter- 
good.  He  knew  the  merchants  of  the  town  had  not  for- 
given him  for  once  getting  decidedly  the  better  of  them 
in  a  certain  transaction,  and  he  knew  now  that  they  had 
combined  against  him.  Their  idea  was  transparent  to 
him.  It  was  their  hope  to  put  him  out  of  business  by 
adding  hardware  to  their  stocks  and  to  sell  it  at  cost,  until 
he  gave  up  the  ship.  They  could  afford  it.  It  would  not 
interfere  with  their  normal  profits. 

Scattergood  wriggled  his  toes  furiously  and  squinted  his 
eyes.  They  alighted  on  a  young  man  in  clerical  black, 
who  crossed  the  square  from  the  post  office.  It  was  no 
other  than  Jason  Hooper,  son  of  Elder  Hooper,  who  had 
been  educated  to  the  ministry  and  had  recently  come  to 
occupy  the  pulpit  of  his  father's  church — a  pleasant  and 
worthy  young  man.  Almost  simultaneously  Scattergood's 
eyes  perceived  Selina  Pettybone,  daughter  of  Deacon 
Pettybone,  just  entering  the  post  office. 

"Purty  as  a  picture,"  said  Scattergood  to  himself,  and 
then  he  chuckled. 

The  young  minister  nodded  to  Scattergood,  and  Scat- 
tergood spoke  in  return.  "Mornin',  Parson,"  he  said. 
"How  d'you  find  business?" 

"Business?"    The  young  man  looked  a  bit  startled. 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  85 

"Oh,  how's  the  marryin'  industry,  f'r  instance?  Brisk?" 

Jason  smiled.     "It  might  be  brisker." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Maybe  folks  figgers  you  hain't  had  enough 
experience  to  do  their  marryin'  jest  accordin'  to  rule — 
seem'  's  you  hain't  married  yourself." 

Jason  blushed  and  frowned.  This  was  a  subject  that 
had  been  brought  to  his  attention  insistently;  he  had 
been  informed  that  a  minister  should  marry,  and  there 
were  several  marriageable  daughters  in  his  church. 

"You  aren't  going  to  pick  a  wife  for  me,  too?"  he  said, 
with  a  rueful  smile. 

"Dunno  but  I  might,"  said  Scattergood.  "Got  any 
preferences  as  to  weight  and  color?" 

"My  only  preference  is  to  have  them  all — a  long  way 
off,"  said  the  young  minister. 

"Some  day  you'll  have  opposite  leanin's.  There  '11  be 
a  girl  you'll  want  to  snuggle  right  clost  to.  ...  G'-by,  Par- 
son, I'll  keep  my  eyes  open  for  you." 

A  few  days  later  consignments  of  hardware  began  to 
arrive,  and  Scattergood,  sitting  on  the  piazza  of  his  store, 
watched  them  carried  with  much  ostentation  into  the 
stores  of  his  rivals.  It  was  noticed  that  he  scarcely  had 
his  shoes  on  during  this  week  and  that  he  even  walked  to 
the  post  office  barefooted,  squirming  his  delighted  toes 
into  the  warm  sand  with  apparent  enjoyment.  Immedi- 
ately Locker  and  Kettleman  and  Lumley  and  the  rest 
made  it  known  to  Coldriver  and  environs  that  they  were 
dealing  in  hardware  and  not  for  profit,  but  merely  as  a 
convenience  to  their  patrons.  They  emphasized  the  fact 
that  they  would  sell  hardware  at  cost,  and  exhibited  prices 
which  Scattergood  studied  and  saw  that  he  could  not  meet. 

The  town  watched  the  affair,  expecting  much  of  Scatter- 
good,  but  he  made  no  move.  Apparently  he  was  con- 
tented to  sit  on  his  piazza  and  see  customers  passing  him 
by  for  the  alluring  bargains  offered  beyond.  Coldriver 


86  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

was  disappointed  in  Scattergood,  and  it  said  so,  much  as 
a  disgruntled  critic  will  speak  of  an  actor  who  has  made  a 
flat  failure  in  a  favorite  piece. 

On  a  certain  afternoon  Scattergood  was  seen  to  accost 
Selina  Pettybone,  who  paused,  and  drew  nearer,  showing 
signs  of  regret  and  interest. 

"Seliny,"  said  Scattergood,  "you're  one  of  them  Daugh- 
ters of  Dorcas,  or  half  sisters  of  Mehitable,  or  somethin' 
religious  and  charitable,  hain't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Selina,  with  a  smile. 

"What  does  sich  folks  do  when  they  git  to  hear  of  a 
case  of  misery  and  distress?" 

"They  do  what  they  can,  Mr.  Baines,"  said  Selina. 

"Um!  ...  If  you  heard  Xenophon  Banks  was  took  sick 
of  a  busted  leg,  and  his  wife  was  dead  these  two  year,  and 
a  'leven-year-old  girl  was  tryin'  to  nuss  her  pa  and  look 
after  four  more,  what  d'ye  calc'late  you'd  calc'late?" 

"I'd  calculate,"  said  Selina,  "that  I  ought  to  go  out 
there  to  the  farm  and  see  about  it  at  once." 

"  Usin'  your  buggy  or  mine?  " 

"Mine,  thank  you." 

"G'-by,  Selina." 

"G'-by,  Mr.  Baines,"  she  said,  and  laughed. 

Scattergood  watched  her  disappear  in  the  direction  of 
her  home  and  then  got  up  leisurely  and  ambled  toward  the 
Congregational  parsonage,  in  which  young  Jason  Hooper 
lived  in  solitary  dignity.  Mr.  Hooper  was  in  his  study. 

"Howdy,  Parson?"  said  Scattergood. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Baines?" 

"Bible  say  anythin'  regardin'  visitin'  the  sick  an' 
ministerin'  to  the  oppressed?" 

"A  great  deal,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Think  it's  meant,  eh?  Or  was  it  put  there  jest  to 
preach  about?" 

"It  is  meant,  undoubtedly." 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  87 

"For  ministers?" 

"Yes." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Xenophon  Banks  busted  his  leg.  'Leven- 
year-old  daughter's  tryin'  to  carry  him  and  four  other 
childern  on  to  her  back,  so  to  speak." 

"  I'll  go  at  once,  Mr.  Baines." 

Scattergood  fidgeted.  "  Calc'Iate  Xenophon  wasn't  fore- 
handed. Six  mouths  to  feed.  More  mealtimes  than  meals," 
he  said,  and  fumbled  in  his  pocket.  He  was  visibly  em- 
barrassed. "Here's  ten  dollars  that  was  give  me  to  be 
used  for  sich  a  purpose.  The  feller  that  give  it  let  on  he 
wanted  it  to  come  like  it  was  give  by  the  church,  and  him 
not  mentioned.  Git  the  idee?  " 

"I  get  the  idea  perfectly,"  said  young  Mr.  Hooper,  his 
face  lighting  as  he  surveyed  Scattergood  with  a  whimsical 
twinkle — and  as  he  saw  this  scheming,  money-hungry, 
power-hungry  man  in  a  new  light.  "The  man  may  feel 
confident  I  shall  not  betray  him." 

"  If  I  was  a  minister  in  sich  a  case  I  wouldn't  forgit  some 
stick  candy  for  them  five  childern.  Seems  like  candy's 
'most  necessary  for  sich.  Dum  foolishness,  but  keeps  'em 
quiet.  .  .  .  Git  a  big  bag  of  candy.  .  .  .  And,  if  I  was  doin' 
this,  I  wouldn't  let  no  grass  grow  under  my  feet." 

So  it  happened  that  Selina  Pettybone  and  the  Rev. 
Jason  Hooper,  respectively,  daughter  of  the  leading  deacon 
of  the  Baptist  church,  and  parson  of  the  Congregational 
church,  arrived  at  Xenophon  Banks's  little  house  within 
ten  minutes  of  each  other,  and  each  was  greatly  embar- 
rassed by  the  other's  presence,  for  the  family  feud  had 
compelled  them  to  be  coldly  distant  to  each  other  all  of 
their  short  lives.  .  .  .  But  there  was  much  to  do,  and 
embarrassment  of  such  kind  between  an  unusually  pretty 
and  wholesome  girl,  and  a  reasonably  well-looking  and 
kindly  young  man,  is  not  an  emotion  that  cannot  be 
easily  dissipated. 


88  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

About  a  week  later  Scattergood  chanced  to  pass  Deacon 
Pettybone's  house,  and  saw  the  old  gentleman  sitting  on 
the  front  porch,  shaping  a  large  piece  of  wood  with  a  draw- 
shave. 

"Afternoon,  Deacon,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Set  and  rest  your  legs,"  said  the  deacon.  "Jest  put- 
tin*  the  finishin'  touches  on  this  timber  leg  of  mine." 

"Sturdy-lookin'  leg,  Deacon." 

"Best  I  ever  made.  Always  calc'late  to  keep  one  ahead. 
Soon's  one  leg  wears  out  and  I  put  on  the  spare  one,  I 
set  to  work  fashionin'  another,  to  have  by  me.  Always 
manage  to  figger  some  improvement." 

"More  int'restin*  than  cuttin'  out  ax  handles,"  said 
Scattergood. 

The  deacon  looked  his  scorn.  "Anybody  kin  cut  an 
ax  handle,  but  lemme  tell  you  it  takes  study  and  figgerin' 
and  brains  to  turn  out  a  timber  leg  that's  full  as  good  if 
not  better  'n  a  real  one.  ...  I  aim  to  varnish  this  here  leg 
and  hang  it  in  the  harness  room.  Wisht  I  could  keep  it 
by  me  in  the  kitchen,  but  the  ol'  woman  says  it  sp'iles 
her  appetite.  Wimmin  is  full  of  notions.  Claims  she'd 
go  crazy  with  a  leg  a-hangin'  back  of  the  stove,  and 
some  day  she'd  up  and  slam  it  in  the  oven  and  serve  it 
up  for  a  roast.  You  kin  thank  your  stars  you  hain't  got 
wimmin's  notions  to  worry  you,  Scattergood." 

"How  d'ye  stand  on  the  proposition  to  have  the  town 
build  a  sidewalk  up  the  hill  apast  the  Congregational 
church,  Deacon?" 

The  deacon  pounded  on  the  porch  with  his  nearly 
finished  leg,  and  grew  red  in  the  face.  "All  the  doin's  of 
ol'  man  Hooper.  Connivin'  and  squillickin'  around  for 
his  own  ends.  Lemme  tell  you,  Scattergood,  no  town 
meetin'  of  Coldriver  '11  ever  vote  sich  a  steal  only  over  my 
dead  body.  Jest  you  tell  that  far  and  wide." 

Business  had  been  almost  at  a  standstill  for  Scatter- 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  89 

good.  The  only  sales  he  made  were  of  small  articles  his 
competitors  had  forgotten  or  neglected  to  stock.  He  had 
not  taken  in  enough  money  for  a  month  to  pay  for  the 
wear  and  tear  on  his  fixtures.  Coldriver  was  coming  to 
set  him  down  as  a  failure  and  a  black  disappointment; 
but  it  marveled  that  he  took  no  action  whatever  and 
showed  no  signs  of  worry.  His  eyes  were  as  blue  and  his 
manner  as  humorous  as  it  had  ever  been.  Most  of  his 
conversation  seemed  to  be  on  the  subject  of  the  sidewalk 
past  the  Congregational  church,  and  it  was  carried  on  in 
low  tones,  and  never  to  more  than  one  individual  at  a  time. 
If  those  individuals  had  compared  notes  they  would  have 
been  astonished.  Scattergood's  attitude  on  the  matter 
was  widely  different,  depending  on  whether  he  talked  with 
Baptist  or  Congregationalist.  One  might  almost  say  that 
both  sides  were  coming  to  him  for  advice  on  how  to  con- 
duct its  campaign  to  carry  the  town  meeting — and  one 
would  have  been  right. 

The  matter  had  developed  into  the  hottest  political 
issue  Coldriver  had  ever  seen.  No  presidential  election 
had  come  near  to  rivaling  it,  and  the  local-option  issue  had 
stirred  up  fewer  heartburnings  and  given  rise  to  less  bel- 
lowing and  to  fewer  hard  words.  The  town  meeting  was 
less  than  a  month  away. 

But  even  in  the  heat  of  the  campaign  Scattergood  found 
time  to  drive  out  to  Xenophon  Banks's.  The  road  to 
Banks's  was  fairly  well  traveled  these  days,  for  there  was 
hardly  a  day  that  did  not  see  either  Selina  Pettybone  or 
Parson  Hooper  driving  out  to  the  little  house,  and, 
strangely  enough,  the  days  on  which  both  were  present 
appeared  to  be  in  the  majority.  Scattergood  dropped  out 
now  and  then  with  pockets  full  of  stick  candy,  which  he 
never  delivered  himself,  but  which  he  always  handed  to 
the  minister  or  to  Selina  to  be  given  anonymously  after 
he  was  gone.  He  seemed  as  much  interested  in  watching 


90  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Selina  and  Jason  as  he  was  in  talking  with  Xenophon,  and 
he  might  have  been  perceived  frequently  to  nod  his  head 
with  satisfaction — especially  on  the  day  when  he  heard 
Jason  call  Selina  by  her  first  name,  and  on  the  other  day 
when  he  saw  the  young  minister  retaining  Selina's  hand 
longer  than  he  should  have  done  in  saying  good  afternoon. 
That  day  Jason  drove  back  to  town  with  Scattergood. 

"Likely-lookin'  girl — Seliny,"  observed  Scattergood. 

"Beautiful,"  said  the  parson,  and  Scattergood  grinned. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Single  ministers  is  a  menace.  Yes,  sir, 
churches  has  busted  up  on  account  of  their  ministers  not 
bein'  married." 

There  was  no  reply. 

"But  I  calc'late  you're  different.  You're  jest  made 
and  created  to  be  an  old  batch.  Never  seen  sich  a  feller. 
Couldn't  no  girl  int'rest  you,  not  if  she  was  the  Queen  of 
Sheeby." 

"Mr.  Baines,"  said  Jason,  after  a  pause,  "I'm  very 
miserable.  I — I  think  I  shall  resign  from  my  church  and 
go  away." 

"Sandrich  Islands  or  somewheres — missionery  feller?" 
said  Scattergood. 

"I — why,  yes,  that's  what  I'll  do.  ...  I  wish  I'd  never 
seen  her."  Then  he  corrected  himself  sharply.  "No,  I 
don't.  I'm  glad  I've  seen  her.  I've  got  that  much,  any- 
how. I  can  always  remember  her  and  think  about  how 
sweet  and  beautiful  she  was — " 

"And  die  at  the  age  of  eighty  with  her  name  comin' 
from  your  lips  on  your  last  breath.  To  be  sure.  .  . .  Seems 
to  me,  though,  it  would  be  a  sight  more  satisfyin'  to  live 
them  fifty-odd  years  with  her  and  raise  up  a  fam'ly,  and 
git  some  benefits  out  of  that  sweetness  and  beauty  and  sich 
like,  besides  mullin'  'em  over  in  your  mind.  Speakin'  of 
Seliny,  wasn't  you?" 

"Yes." 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  91 

"Don't  hanker  to  marry  her?" 

"Mr.  Baines— " 

"Then  why  in  tunket  don't  you?" 

"She's  a  Baptist." 

"White,  hain't  she?" 

"Yes." 

"Respectable?" 

"Of  course,  sir." 

"Don't  call  to  mind  no  state  law  ag'in'  Congregation- 
alists  marryin'  Baptists." 

"My  congregation  wouldn't  allow  it." 

"Hain't  never  seen  no  deed  of  sale  of  you  to  your 
congregation." 

"Her  father  would  never  permit  it?" 

"Huh! .  .  ." 

"And  she's  an  obedient  daughter." 

"Has  she  said  so?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Ho!  Kind  of  human,  after  all,  hain't  you?  Look 
pleased  when  she  said  it?" 

"She  cried." 

"Comfort  her — some." 

"I—    She— she  loves  me,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Well,  I  snum!  Kind  of  disobedient  to  love  you, hain't 
it?  Knows  her  father  'd  be  set  ag'in'  it?" 

"Yes,  but  she  can't  help  that." 

"Why?" 

"You — why,  you  fall  in  love!  You  don't  do  it  on  pur- 
pose, Mr.  Baines.  It  just  comes  to  you." 

"From  where?"  said  Scattergood,  abruptly. 

The  young  minister  stared. 

"Who's  to  blame  for  there  bein'  love?"  Scattergood 
demanded. 

After  a  pause  the  young  man  answered.  "God,"  he 
said. 


92  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Why  does  He  send  it?" 

"So  that  people  will  marry,  and  the  love  will  keep  them 
together,  strong  to  bear  the  trials  and  labors  of  life.  I 
think  love  is  a  kind  of  wages  that  God  pays  to  men  and 
women  for  living  on  His  earth." 

"Um! .  .  .  Does  He  send  love  sort  of  helter-skelter  and 
hit-or-miss,  or  does  He  aim  it  at  certain  folks?" 

"I  have  often  preached  that  marriages  were  made  in 
heaven." 

"Then  it's  a  kind  of  a  command,  hain't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Which  d'ye  calc'late  is  the  wust  disobedience?  To 
refuse  to  obey  an  order  sich  as  this,  or  to  disobey  a  parent 
that  runs  counter  to  the  wants  of  the  Almighty?" 

The  young  man's  face  was  alight  with  happiness.  "Mr. 
Baines,"  he  said,  "I'm  grateful  to  you.  I  shall  marry 
Selina." 

"Maybe,"  said  Scattergood.  "It  runs  in  my  mind  you 
got  to  have  dealin's  with  Deacon  Pettybone,  and  the  dea- 
con always  figgers  that  the  news  he  gits  from  heaven  is 
fresher  and  more  dependable  than  what  anybody  else  gits. 
Might  ask  him  and  see." 

A  few  days  after  that  Coldriver  knew  that  Parson 
Hooper  had  asked  the  hand  of  Selina  from  her  father  and 
had  been  rejected  with  language  and  almost  with  vio- 
lence. Then  a  strange  thing  took  place.  If  Jason  had 
married  Selina  without  opposition,  his  congregation  would 
have  been  enraged.  He  might  have  been  forced  from  his 
pulpit.  Now  it  regarded  him  as  a  martyr,  and  with  clack- 
ing tongues  and  singleness  of  purpose  it  espoused  his 
cause  and  declared  that  their  minister  was  good  enough 
to  marry  any  girl  alive,  and  that  Deacon  Pettybone  was 
a  mean,  narrow-minded,  bigoted,  cantankerous  old  gram- 
pus. The  thing  became  a  public  question,  second  in  im- 
portance only  to  the  sidewalk. 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  93 

" Hold  your  bosses,"  Scattergood  advised  Jason.  "Let's 
see  what  a  mite  of  dickerin'  and  persuasion  '11  do  with  the 
deacon.  Then,  if  measures  fails,  my  advice  to  you  as  a 
human  bein'  and  a  citizen  is  to  git  Seliny  into  a  buckboard 
and  run  off  with  her.  But  hold  on  a  spell." 

So  Jason  held  on,  and  the  town  meeting  approached, 
and  Scattergood  continued  to  sit  in  idleness  on  the  piazza 
of  his  store  and  twiddle  his  bare  toes  in  the  sunshine. 
Deacon  Pettybone  was  a  busy  man,  organizing  the  forces 
of  the  Baptists,  and  seeking  diligently  to  round  up  the 
votes  of  neutrals.  Elder  Hooper,  the  leader  of  the  Con- 
gregationalist  party,  was  equally  occupied,  and  no  man 
might  hazard  a  guess  at  the  outcome  of  the  affair. 

"This  here  is  a  great  principle,"  said  Deacon  Petty- 
bone,  "and  men  gives  their  lives  and  sacrifices  their  fam- 
ilies for  sich.  I'm  a-goin'  to  fight  to  the  last  gasp." 

"Don't  blame  ye  a  mite,"  said  Scattergood.  "If  them 
Congregationalists  rule  this  town  meetin'  you  might 's 
well  throw  up  your  hands.  They'll  rule  the  town  forever." 

"It's  got  to  be  pervented." 

"And  nobody  but  you  kin  manage  it,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "  The  hull  thing  rests  with  you.  Why,  if  you  was 
sick  so's  to  be  absent  from  that  meetin'  the  Congrega- 
tionalists 'u'd  win,  hands  down." 

"I  b'lieve  it,"  said  the  deacon,  "and  nothin'  on  earth  '11 
keep  me  away — nothin'.  If  I  was  a-layin'  at  my  last  gasp 
I'd  git  myself  carried  there." 

"Deacon,"  said  Scattergood,  solemnly,  "much  is  de- 
pendin'  on  you.  Coldriver's  fort'nit  to  have  sich  a  man 
at  the  helm." 

Even  the  cribbage  game  under  the  barber  shop  was  sus- 
pended, and  the  cribbage  game  was  an  institution.  It 
was  the  deacon's  one  shortcoming,  but  even  there  he  strove 
to  get  the  better  of  the  enemy,  for  the  two  men  who  were 
considered  his  only  worthy  antagonists  at  the  game  were 


94  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Congregationalists.  The  three  bickered  and  quarreled 
and  threatened  each  other  with  violence,  but  they  played 
daily.  There  were  few  afternoons  when  a  ring  of  specta- 
tors did  not  surround  the  table,  breathlessly  watching  the 
champions.  It  was  the  great  local  sporting  event,  and 
who  shall  quarrel  with  the  good  deacon  for  touching  cards 
in  the  innocent  game  of  cribbage?  Certainly  his  pastor 
did  not  do  so,  nor  did  the  fellow  members  of  his  congre- 
gation. Indeed,  there  was  even  pride  in  his  prowess. 

But  the  game  was  discontinued,  and  Hamilcar  Jones 
and  Tilley  Newcamp  were  loud  in  their  excoriations  of 
their  late  antagonist.  The  Congregationalists  had  no 
hotter  adherents  than  they,  nor  none  who  entered  the 
conflict  with  more  bitterness  of  spirit.  Scattergood  saw 
to  it  that  he  encountered  them  on  the  evening  before  the 
momentous  town  meeting. 

"Evenin',  Ham.    Evenin',  Tilley." 

"Howdy,  Scattergood?" 

"How's  things  lookin'  for  to-morrer?" 

"Mighty  even,  Scattergood.  If  'twan't  for  that  oP 
gallus  Pettybone,  we'd  git  that  sidewalk  with  votes  to 
spare." 

"Um!  ...  If  he  was  absent  from  the  meetin'  things 
might  git  to  happen." 

"Ho!  Tie  him  to  home,  and  there  wouldn't  even  be  a 
fight." 

"Got  a  wooden  leg,  hain't  he?" 

"Wisht  he  had  three." 

"Got  two,  one  hangin'  in  the  harness  room.  Harness 
room's  never  locked.  If  'twas  a  boy  could  squirm  through 
the  window." 

"What  of  it?" 

"Nothin'.  Jest  happened  to  think  of  it.  ...  Ever  stop 
to  think  what  a  comical  thing  it  'u'd  be  if  somebody  was 
to  ketch  a  wooden-legged  man  and  saw  his  leg  off  about 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  95 

halfway  up?  Jest  lay  him  across  a  saw  buck  and  saw  her 
off  while  he  hollered  and  fit.  Most  comical  notion  I  ever 
had." 

"Would  make  a  feller  laugh." 

"More  'special  if  his  spare  leg  was  stole  away  and  he 
didn't  have  nothin'  but  the  sawed-off  one.  Sich  a  man 
would  have  difficulty  gittin'  any  place  he  wanted  to  git 

to G'-by,  Ham.  G'-by,  Tilley.  Hope  the  meetin' 

comes  out  right  to-morrer." 

Scattergood  went  inside  and  looked  at  his  bank  book. 
In  two  months  his  deposits  from  sales  had  amounted  to 
something  like  a  hundred  dollars.  The  situation  spelled 
nothing  less  than  bankruptcy,  but  Scattergood  replaced 
the  book  and  waddled  out  to  his  piazza,  where  he  sat  in 
the  cool  of  the  evening,  twiddling  his  toes  and  looking  from 
the  store  of  one  competitor  to  the  store  of  another, 
reflectively. 

At  a  late  hour  a  small  boy  named  Newcamp  delivered  a 
bulky  package  to  Scattergood,  and  vanished  into  the 
darkness.  The  package  was  about  large  enough  to  con- 
tain a  timber  leg. 

The  town  seethed  with  politics  next  morning,  and  the 
deacon  was  in  the  center  of  it.  The  meeting  was  called 
for  ten  o'clock.  At  nine  thirty  a  small  boy  wriggled  up 
to  the  deacon  and  whispered  in  his  ear.  The  deacon 
quickly  made  his  way  out  of  the  crowd  and  down  the  stairs 
into  the  basement  room  under  the  barber  shop — for  news 
had  been  given  him  of  a  chance  to  swap  for  votes.  He 
burst  into  the  room,  and  stopped,  frowning,  for  Tilley  New- 
camp  stood  before  him.  Hamilcar  Jones  was  not  at  the 
moment  visible,  because  he  was  behind  the  door,  which  he 
slammed  shut  and  locked. 

No  word  was  uttered,  but  a  Trojan  struggle  ensued. 
It  was  two  against  one,  but  even  those  odds  did  not  daunt 
the  deacon.  It  was  full  five  minutes  before  he  was  flat  on 


96  SCATTERGOOD  BAESfES 

his  back,  panting  and  uttering  such  burning  and  searing 
words  as  might  properly  fall  from  the  lips  of  a  Baptist 
deacon.  Tilley  Newcamp,  who  was  heavy,  sat  on  his 
chest.  Hamilcar  Jones  dragged  up  a  saw  buck  and  laid 
the  deacon's  timber  leg  across  it.  ...  The  deacon  saw  and 
comprehended,  and  lifted  up  his  voice.  Another  five 
minutes  were  consumed  in  returning  him  to  quiescence. 
And  then  the  saw  did  its  work,  while  the  deacon  breathed 
threats  of  blood  and  torture,  and  regretted  that  his  re- 
ligion prevented  him  from  using  language  better  suited 
to  his  purpose.  The  leg  was  severed;  a  fragment  full  ten 
inches  long  fell  from  the  end,  and  the  deacon's  assailants 
drew  away,  their  fell  purpose  accomplished. 

There  was  a  rapping  on  the  door.  It  was  Scattergood 
Baines,  and  he  was  admitted.  His  face  was  full  of  wrath 
as  he  gazed  within,  and  he  quivered  with  fury  as  he  ordered 
the  two  miscreants  out  of  the  place. 

"What's  this,  Deacon,  what's  this?"  he  demanded. 

The  deacon  told  him  at  length,  and  fluently. 

"I  was  jest  in  time.  Now  we  kin  send  for  that  spare 
leg  and  you  kin  git  to  the  meetin*.  Lucky  you  had  that 
spare  leg." 

The  deacon  sat  on  the  floor,  speechless  now,  staring 
down  at  all  that  remained  to  him  of  his  timber  leg.  Scat- 
tergood, with  great  show  of  solicitude,  dispatched  a  young- 
ster to  the  deacon's  house  for  his  extra  limb.  He  returned 
empty-handed. 

"This  here  boy  says  the  leg  hain't  in  the  harness  room. 
Sure  you  left  it  there?" 

Again  the  deacon  found  his  voice,  and  his  words  were 
to  the  general  effect  that  the  blame  swizzled,  ornery,  ill- 
sired,  and  regrettably  reared  pew-gags  had,  in  defiance  of 
law  and  order,  stolen  and  made  away  with  his  leg — and 
what  was  he  to  do? 

"Deacon,  you  can't  go  like  that.    If  this  story  got  into 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  97 

the  meetin'  it  would  do  fer  you.  You'd  git  laughed  out. 
Them  Congregationalists  'u'd  win.  You  got  to  have  a 
sound  leg  to  travel  on,  and  I  don't  see  but  one  way  to 
git  it." 

"How's  that?" 

"Call  in  young  Parson  Hooper  and  make  him  force 
them  adherents  of  hisn  to  give  it  up." 

Scattergood  did  not  wait  for  the  permission  he  surmised 
would  not  be  given,  but  sent  word  for  Jason  Hooper,  who 
came,  saw,  and  was  most  remarkably  astonished. 

"Parson,"  said  Scattergood,  "this  here  outrage  is 
onendurable.  Some  of  you  Congregationers  done  it,  and 
stole  his  other  leg.  As  leader  of  your  flock  and  a  honest 
man,  it's  your  bounden  duty  to  git  it  back." 

"But  I — I  know  nothing  about  it.  What  can  I  do? 
I —  There  isn't  a  thing  you  can  do." 

"Deacon,"  said  Scattergood,  "there  hain't  a  soul  in  the 
world  can  git  back  your  leg  in  time  but  this  young  man. 
Maybe  he  don't  know  he  kin  do  it,  but  he  kin.  Hain't 
you  got  no  offer  to  make?  " 

The  parson  started  to  say  something,  but  Scattergood 
silenced  him  with  a  waggle  of  the  head. 

"I  got  to  git  to  that  meetin',"  bellowed  the  deacon. 
"There  hain't  nothin'  in  the  world  I  wouldn't  give  to  git 
there,  and  git  there  whole  and  hearty,  and  so's  not  to  be 
laughed  at." 

"Remind  you  of  any  leetle  want  of  yourn?"  asked 
Scattergood.  He  took  the  young  man  aside  and  whis- 
pered to  him. 

"Deacon,"  he  said,  presently,  "Parson  Hooper  says  as 
how  he  don't  see  no  reason  for  interferin'  and  helpin'  his 
enemy."  The  parson  had  said  nothing  of  the  sort.  "But 
I  kin  see  a  reason,  Deacon.  If  this  here  young  man  was 
a  member  of  your  family,  so  to  speak,  and  was  related  to 
you  clost  by  ties  of  love  and  marriage,  I  don't  see  how  he'd 


98  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

have  a  right  to  hold  his  hand.  .  .  .  Want  this  man's 
daughter  f'r  your  wedded  wife,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  parson,  faintly. 

"  Hear  that,  Deacon?    Hear  that?  " 

"Never,  by  the  hornswoggled  whale  that  swallered 
Jonah." 

"Meetin's  about  to  start,"  said  Scattergood,  looking  at 
his  watch. 

The  deacon  sweated  and  bellowed,  but  Scattergood 
adroitly  waved  the  red  flag  of  animosity  before  his  eyes, 
and  pictured  black  ruin  and  defeat — until  the  deacon  was 
ready  to  surrender  life  itself. 

"Git  me  my  leg,"  he  shouted,  "and  you  kin  have  any- 
thin'.  .  .  .  Git  me  my  leg." 

"Is  it  a  promise,  Deacon?    Calc'late  it's  a  promise?" 

"I  promise.     I  promise,  solemn." 

Scattergood  whispered  again  in  the  pastor's  ear,  who 
stuttered  and  flushed  and  choked,  and  hurried  out  of  the 
room,  presently  to  reappear  with  the  deacon's  spare  leg. 

"Now,  young  feller,  make  your  preparations  for  that 
there  weddin'.  .  .  .  Scoot." 

It  is  of  record  that  the  deacon  arrived,  like  Sheridan 
at  Winchester,  in  the  nick  of  time;  that  he  rallied  his 
flustered  cohorts  and  led  them  to  triumph — and  then 
regretted  the  bargain  he  had  made.  But  it  was  too 
late.  He  could  not  draw  back.  Wife  and  daughter  and 
townsfolk  were  all  against  him,  and  he  could  not  with- 
stand the  pressure. 

And  then.  .  .  . 

"Parson,"  said  Scattergood,  "your  pa  and  the  deacon 
ought  to  make  up." 

"They  '11  never  do  it,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Deacon  '11  have  to  let  your  pa  come  to  the  weddin'. 
There'll  be  makin'  up  and  reconciliations  when  there's  a 
grandson,  but  I  can't  wait.  I'm  in  a  all-fired  hurry.  You 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  99 

go  to  the  deacon  and  tell  him  your  pa  sent  him  to  say  that 
he's  ready  to  bury  the  hatchet  and  begs  the  deacon's 
pardon  for  everythin' — everythinV 

"But  it  wouldn't  be  true." 

"  It's  got  to  be  true.  Hain't  I  sayin'  it's  true?  And  then 
you  go  to  your  pa  and  tell  him  the  deacon  wants  to  make 
up,  and  begs  his  pardon  out  and  out.  Tell  both  of  'em  to 
be  at  my  store  at  three  o'clock,  but  don't  tell  neither 
t'other's  to  be  there." 

At  three  o'clock  Deacon  Pettybone  and  Elder  Hooper 
came  face  to  face  in  Scattergood's  place  of  business. 

"Howdy,  gents?"  said  Scattergood.  "Lookin'  forward 
to  bein'  mutual  grandads,  I  calc'late.  Must  be  quite  a 
feelin'  to  know  you're  in  line  to  be  a  grandad." 

"Huh!"  grunted  the  deacon. 

"Wumph!"  coughed  the  elder. 

"To  think  of  you  old  coots  dandlin'  a  baby  on  your 
knees — and  buyin'  it  pep'mint  candy  and  the  Lord  knows 
what,  and  walkin'  down  the  street,  each  of  you  holdin'  one 
of  its  hands  and  it  walkin'  betwixt  you.  .  .  .  Dummed  if 
I  don't  congratulate  you." 

The  deacon  looked  at  the  elder  and  the  elder  looked  at 
the  deacon.  They  grinned,  frostily  at  first,  then  more 
broadly. 

"By  hek!  Eph,"  said  the  deacon. 

"I'll  be  snummed!"  said  the  elder,  and  they  shook  hands 
there  and  then. 

"Step  back  here  a  minute.  I  got  a  mite  of  business.  You 
won't  want  the  nuisance  of  that  stage  line — with  a  grand- 
son to  fetch  up.  I'm  kinder  hankerin'  to  run  the  thing — 
not  that  it  '11  be  much  of  an  investment." 

"What  you  offerin'?"  asked  the  deacon. 

Scattergood  mentioned  the  sum.    "  Cash,"  he  concluded. 

"Calc'late  we  better  sell,"  said  the  elder. 

An  hour  later,  with  the  papers  in  his  pocket  to  prove 


100  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

ownership,  Scattergood  visited  the  stores  of  his  rivals, 
Locker,  Kettleman,  Lumley,  and  Penny. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "you  been  a-tryin'  to  crowd  me 
out  of  business.  I  hain't  made  a  cent  of  profit  f'r  two 
months,  and  I  calc'late  on  a  profit  of  two  hunderd  and  fifty 
a  month.  Jest  gimme  your  check  for  five  hunderd  dollars 
and  I'll  take  your  stocks  of  hardware  off' n  your  hands  at, 
say,  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar,  and  we'll  call  it  a  day." 

"Scattergood,  we  got  you  where  we  want  you.  You 
can't  hold  out  another  sixty  days." 

"Maybe.  But,  gentlemen,  I  guess  we  kin  do  business. 
I  jest  bought  the  only  means  of  transportin'  goods,  wares, 
and  merchandise  into  Coldriver.  Beginnin'  now,  rates  for 
freight  goes  up.  I've  studied  the  law,  and  there  hain't 
no  way  to  pervent  me.  I  kin  charge  what  I  want  for 
freighting  and  what  I  want  will  be  so  much  not  a  one  of 

you  kin  do  business And  I'll  put  hi  groceries  and  what 

not,  myself.  Gittin'  my  freight  free,  I  calc'late  to  under- 
sell you  quite  consid'able Kin  we  do  business?" 

The  enemy  went  into  executive  session.  They  surren- 
dered. Scattergood  pocketed  a  check  for  five  hundred 
dollars,  and  came  into  possession  of  a  fine  stock  of  hard- 
ware at  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar.  Likewise,  he  owned  the 
stage  line  and  franchise,  controlling  the  only  right  of  way 
by  which  a  railroad  could  reach  up  the  valley.  It  had 
required  politics,  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage,  and 
patience,  to  accomplish  it,  but  it  was  done. 

That  evening  Mrs.  Hooper  and  Mrs.  Pettybone,  child- 
hood friends,  long  separated  by  the  feud,  stopped  to  speak 
to  Scattergood. 

"Nobody  knows  how  we  appreciate  what  you  done 
Minnie  and  me,"  said  Mrs.  Pettybone. 

"Blessed  is  the  peacemaker,"  said  Mrs.  Hooper. 

"Thankee,  ladies.  I  don't  mind  bein'  a  peacemaker  any 
time — when  I  kin  do  it  at  a  profit." 


HE  DEALS  IN  MATCHMAKING  101 

"It's  always  done  at  a  profit,  Mr.  Baines,  if  you  read 
the  Good  Book.  This  day  you  laid  up  a  treasure  in 
heaven." 

"Trouble  with  depositin'  profits  in  heaven,"  said  Scat- 
tergood,  very  soberly,  "is  that  you  got  to  wait  so  tarnation 
long  to  draw  your  int'rest." 


CHAPTER  V 

HE  MAKES  IT  BOUND  NUMBERS 

"  IT'S  a  telegram  from  Johnnie  Bones,"  said  Scattergood 

1  Baines  to  his  wife,  Mandy,  as  he  tore  open  the  yellow 
envelope  and  read  the  brief  message  it  contained. 

"Telegram!"  said  Mandy.  "Why  didn't  he  write? 
Them  telegrams  come  high.  .  .  .  Huh!  Jest  one  word — 
'Come.'  Costs  as  much  to  send  ten  as  it  does  one, 
don't  it?" 

"Identical,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Then,"  said  Mandy,  sharply,  "if  he  was  bound  to 
telegraph  why  didn't  he  git  his  money's  worth?  " 

"I  calc'late  he  thought  he  said  a  plenty,"  Scattergood 
replied.  "Johnnie  he  don't  like  to  put  no  more  in  writin' 
that's  apt  to  pass  from  hand  to  hand  than  he's  obleeged 
to.  ...  Mandy,  looks  like  we  better  start  for  home." 

"What  d'you  s'pose  it  kin  be?"  Mandy  asked,  already 
busy  laying  clothing  in  their  canvas  telescope.  "Mostly 
telegrams  announces  death  or  sickness." 

"I  kin  think  of  sixty-nine  things  it  might  be,"  said 
Scattergood,  "but  I  got  a  feelin'  it  hain't  none  of  'em." 

"We  shouldn't  of  come  away  on  this  vacation,"  said 
Mandy.  "Johnnie  Bones  is  too  young  a  boy  to  leave  in 
charge." 

"Johnnie  Bones  is  a  dum  good  lawyer,  Mandy,  and  a 
dum  far-seein'  young  man.  I  don't  calc'late  Johnnie's 
done  us  no  harm.  Hain't  no  hurry,  Mandy.  We  can't  git 
a  train  home  for  five  hours." 

"We'll  be  settin'  right  in  the  depot  waitin'  for  it,"  said 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         103 

Mandy,  who  declined  to  take  chances.  "Be  sure  you 
keep  your  money  in  the  pants  pocket  on  the  side  I'm 
walkin'  on.  Pickpockets  'u'd  have  some  difficulty  gittin' 
past  me." 

"Only  thing  ag'in'  Johnnie  Bones,"  said  Scattergood, 
"is  that  he  hain't  a  first-rate  hardware  clerk." 

Scattergood,  in  spite  of  the  ownership  of  twenty-four 
miles  of  narrow-gauge  railroad,  of  a  hundred-odd  thousand 
acres  of  spruce,  and  of  a  sawmill  whose  capacity  was  thirty 
thousand  feet  a  day,  persisted  in  regarding  these  things  as 
side  lines,  and  in  looking  upon  his  little  hardware  store  in 
Coldriver  as  the  vital  business  of  his  life.  It  was  now  ten 
years  since  Scattergood  had  walked  up  Coldriver  Valley 
to  the  village  of  Coldriver.  It  was  ten  years  since  he  had 
embarked  on  the  conquest  of  that  desirable  valley,  with 
a  total  working  capital  of  forty  dollars  and  some  cents — 
and  he  not  only  controlled  the  valley's  business  and  tim- 
ber and  transportation,  but  generally  supervised  the 
politics  of  the  state.  He  could  have  borne  up  manfully  if 
all  of  it  were  taken  away  from  him — excepting  the  hard- 
ware store.  To  have  ill  befall  that  would  have  been  disas- 
ter, indeed. 

On  the  train  Scattergood  turned  over  a  seat  to  have  a 
resting  place  for  his  feet,  took  off  his  shoes,  displaying 
white  woolen  socks,  a  refinement  forced  upon  him  by 
Mandy,  and  leaned  back  to  doze  and  speculate.  When 
Mandy  thought  him  safely  asleep  she  covered  his  feet  with 
a  paper,  to  conceal  from  the  public  view  this  evidence  of  a 
character  not  overgiven  to  refinements.  It  is  character- 
istic of  Scattergood  that,  though  wide  awake,  he  gave  no 
sign  of  knowledge  of  Mandy's  act.  Scattergood  was  think- 
ing, and  to  think,  with  him,  meant  so  to  unfetter  his  feet 
that  he  could  wriggle  his  toes  pleasurably. 

Johnnie  Bones  was  waiting  for  Scattergood  at  the 
station. 

8 


104  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Johnnie,"  said  Scattergood,  "did  you  sell  that  kitchen 
range  to  Sam  Kettleman? " 

"Almost,  Mr.  Baines,  almost.  But  when  it  came  to  un- 
wrapping the  weasel  skin  and  laying  money  on  the  coun- 
ter, Sam  guessed  Mrs.  Kettleman  could  keep  on  cooking 
a  spell  with  what  she  had." 

"Johnnie,"  said  Scattergood,  "you're  dum  near  per- 
fect; but  you  got  your  shortcoming.  Hardware's  one 
of  'em. .  . .  What  about  that  telegram  of  yourn?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mandy. 

"Mr.  Castle,  president  of  the  G.  and  B— " 

"I  know  what  job  he's  holdin'  down,  Johnnie." 

" — came  to  see  you  yesterday.  I  wouldn't  tell  him 
where  you  were,  so  he  had  to  tell  me  what  he  wanted. 
He  wants  to  buy  your  railroad.  Said  to  have  you  wire 
him  right  off." 

"Urn!  .  .  ."  Scattergood  walked  deliberately,  with 
heavy-footed  stride,  to  the  telegraph  operator,  and  wrote 
a  brief  but  eminently  characteristic  message.  "I  might," 
the  telegram  said  to  President  Castle. 

"Now,  folks,"  he  said,  "we'll  go  up  to  the  store  and  sort 
of  figger  on  what  Castle's  got  in  mind." 

They  sat  down  on  the  veranda,  under  the  wooden  awn- 
ing, and  Scattergood's  specially  reinforced  chair  creaked 
under  his  great  weight  as  he  stooped  to  remove  his 
shoes.  For  a  moment  he  wriggled  his  toes,  just  as 
a  golfer  waggles  his  driver  preparatory  to  the  stroke. 
"Urn!  .  .  ."  he  said. 

"Castle,"  said  he,  presently,  "works  for  jest  two  ob- 
jects— makin'  money  and  payin'  off  grudges.  Most  gen'- 
ally  he  tries  to  figger  so's  to  combine  'em." 

Johnnie  and  Mandy  waited.  They  knew  better  than  to 
interrupt  Scattergood's  train  of  thought.  Had  they  done 
so  he  would  have  uttered  no  rebuke,  but  would  have 
hoisted  himself  out  of  his  chair  and  would  have  waddled 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         105 

away  up  the  dusty  street,  and  neither  of  them  would  ever 
hear  another  word  of  the  matter. 

"He  knows  I  wouldn't  sell  this  road  without  gittin' 
money  for  it.  Therefore  he's  figgerin'  on  makin'  a  lot  of 
money  out  of  it,  or  payin'  off  a  doggone  big  grudge.  .  .  . 
Somebody  we  don't  know  about  is  calc'latin'  on  movin' 
into  this  valley,  Johnnie.  Somebody  that's  goin'  to  do  a 
heap  of  shippin' — and  that  means  timber  cuttin'.  .  .  .  And 
it  must  be  settled  or  Castle  wouldn't  come  out  and  offer 
to  buy." 

Johnnie  and  Mandy  had  followed  the  reasoning  and 
nodded  assent. 

"What  timber  be  they  goin'  to  cut?"  Scattergood 
poked  a  chubby  finger  at  Johnnie,  who  shook  his  head. 

"The  Goodhue  tract,  back  of  Tupper  Falls.  Uh-huh! 
Because  there  hain't  no  other  sizable  tract  that  I  hain't 
got  strings  on.  And  the  mills,  whatever  kind  they  be,  will 
be  at  Tupper  Falls.  Mills  got  to  be  there.  Can't  git  tim- 
ber out  to  no  other  place.  And,  Johnnie,  buyin'  timber  is 
a  heap  more  important  and  difficult  than  buyin'  mill  sites. 
Eh?  . . .  Johnnie,  you  ketch  the  first  train  for  Tupper  Falls. 
I  own  a  mite  of  land  along  the  railroad,  Johnnie,  but  you 
buy  all  the  rest  from  the  falls  to  the  station.  Not  in  my 
name,  Johnnie.  Git  deeds  to  folks  whose  names  we're 
entitled  to  use — and  the  more  deeds  the  better.  Scoot." 

"Now,  Scattergood,  don't  go  actin'  hasty,"  said  Mandy. 
"  You  don't  know—" 

"The  only  thing  I  don't  know,  Mandy,  is  whether 
Johnnie  's  too  late  to  buy  that  land.  Knowin'  nobody 
else  wants  it,  and  it  hain't  no  good  for  nothin'  but 
what  they  want  it  for,  these  folks  may  not  have  bought 
yit " 

Scattergood  shouted  suddenly  at  the  passing  drayman. 
"Hey,  Pete.  .  .  .  Come  here  and  git  a  cookin'  range  and 
take  it  up  to  Sam  Kettleman's  house.  Git  a  man  to  help 


106  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

you.  Tell  Mis'  Kettleman  I  sent  it,  and  she's  to  try  it  a 
week  to  see  if  she  likes  it.  Set  it  up  for  her  and  all." 

Scattergood  settled  back  to  watch  with  approval,  while 
two  men  hoisted  the  heavy  stove  on  the  wagon  and  drove 
away  with  it.  Presently  Sam  Kettleman  appeared  on 
the  porch  of  his  grocery  across  the  street,  and  Scattergood 
called  to  him:  "Well,  Sam,  glad  you  decided  to  git  the 
woman  a  new  stove.  Shows  you're  up  an'  doin'.  It's  all 
set  up  by  this  time." 

Sam  stared  a  moment;  then,  smitten  speechless,  he 
rushed  across  the  road  and  stood,  a  picture  of  rage,  glaring 
at  Scattergood.  "  I  didn't  buy  no  stove.  You  know  dum 
well  I  didn't  buy  no  stove.  I  can't  afford  no  stove.  You 
jest  git  right  up  there  and  haul  it  back  here,  d'you  hear 
me?" 

"Well, now,  Sam,  don't  it  beat  all — me  makin'  a  mistake 
like  that?  Sure  I'll  send  after  it,  right  off.  ...  Now  I 
won't  have  to  order  one  special  for  Locker."  Locker  was 
the  rival  grocer.  "I  kin  haul  this  one  right  to  his  house, 
and  explain  to  him  how  he  come  to  git  it  so  soon.  I'll  say: 
'Locker,  we  jest  hauled  this  stove  down  from  Sam  Kettle- 
man's.  Had  it  all  set  up  there  and  then  Sam  he  figgered 
it  was  too  expensive  a  stove  for  him  and  he  couldn't  afford 
it  right  now  on  account  of  business  not  bein'  brisk.'" 

"Eh?"  said  Kettleman. 

"'Twon't  cause  a  mite  of  talk  that  anybody  '11  pay  at- 
tention to.  Everybody  knows  what  Locker's  wife  is. 
Tongue  wagglin'  at  both  ends.  And  I'll  take  pains  to 
conterdict  whatever  story  she  goes  spreadin'  about  you 
bein'  too  mean  to  git  your  wife  things  to  do  with  in  the 
kitchen,  and  about  how  you're  'most  bankrupt  and  ready 
to  give  up  business.  Nobody  '11  b'lieve  her,  anyhow,  Sam, 
but  if  they  do  I'll  explain  it  to  'em." 

"Now—" 

"Locker's  wife  '11  be  glad  to  have  it,  too.    She'd  have  to 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         107 

wait  two  weeks  for  hers,  and  now  she'll  git  it  right  off. 
Oven's  cracked  on  hern,  and  she  allows  she  sp'iles  every 
batch  of  bread  she  bakes — and  her  pledged  to  furnish  six 
loaves  for  the  Methodist  Ladies'  Food  Sale.  . . ." 

"Scattergood  Baines,  if  you  dast  touch  my  stove  I'll 
have  the  law  onto  you.  You  can't  go  enterin'  my  house 
and  removin'  things  without  my  permission,  I  kin  tell 
you.  Don't  you  try  to  forgit  it,  neither.  If  you  think  you 
can  gouge  me  out  of  my  stove  jest  to  make  it  more  con- 
venient for  Mis'  Locker,  you're  thinkin'  wrong. ..." 

"  'Tain't  your  stove  till  it's  paid  for,  Sam." 

"Then,  by  gum!  it  '11  be  mine  darn  quick.  Thirty- 
eight  dollars,  was  it?  Now  you  gimme  a  receipt.  .  .  . 
Locker!  .  .  ." 

Scattergood  waddled  into  the  store,  wrote  a  receipt,  and 
put  the  money  in  the  safe.  When  Sam  had  recrossed  the 
road  again  he  turned  to  Johnnie  Bones.  "Sellin'  hard- 
ware's easy  if  you  put  your  mind  to  it,  Johnnie.  Trouble 
with  you  is  you  don't  take  no  int'rest  in  it.  ...  Next  time 
you'll  know  better.  Train's  goin'  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Better  hustle." 

Next  noon  Scattergood  was  in  his  usual  place  on  the 
piazza  of  his  store  when  the  train  came  in.  Presently  Mr. 
Castle,  president  of  the  G.  &  B.,  came  into  view,  and 
Scattergood  closed  his  eyes  as  if  enjoying  a  midday  snooze. 
Mr.  Castle  approached,  stopped,  regarded  Scattergood 
with  a  pucker  of  his  thin  lips,  and  said  to  himself  that  the 
man  must  be  an  accident.  It  was  one  of  Scattergood's 
most  valuable  qualities  that  his  appearance  and  manner 
gave  that  opinion  to  people,  even  when  they  had  suffered 
discomfiture  at  his  hands.  Mr.  Castle  coughed,  and 
Scattergood  opened  his  eyes  sleepily  and  peered  over  the 
rolls  of  fat  that  were  his  cheeks. 

"Howdy?"  said  Scattergood,  not  moving. 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Baines.    You  got  my  message?" 


108  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Seein'  as  you  got  my  reply  to  it,  I  must  have,"  said 
Scattergood. 

"Can  we  talk  here?" 

"I  kin." 

Mr.  Castle  looked  about.  No  one  was  within  earshot. 
He  occupied  a  chair  at  Scattergood's  side. 

"I  understand  your  message  to  mean  that  you  are  will- 
ing to  sell  your  railroad." 

"I  calc'late  that  message  meant  jest  what  it  said." 

"I  know  what  your  railroad  cost  you — almost  to  a 
penny." 

"Uh-huh!"  said  Scattergood,  without  interest. 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  want  it.  My  idea  is  to  extend  it 
through  to  Humboldt — twenty  miles.  May  have  to  tun- 
nel Hopper  Mountain,  but  it  will  give  me  a  short  line  to 
compete  with  the  V.  and  M.  from  Montreal." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Scattergood,  who  knew  well  that  such 
an  extension  was  not  only  impracticable  from  the  point  of 
view  of  engineering,  but  also  from  the  standpoint  of  traffic 
to  be  obtained.  "  Good  idee." 

"I'll  pay  you  cost  and  a  profit  of  twenty-five  thousand 
dollars." 

"Hain't  int'rested  special,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  git 
that  much  fun  out  of  railroadin'." 

"It  isn't  paying  interest  on  your  investment." 

"I  calc'late  it's  goin'  to.    I'm  aimin'  to  see  it  does." 

"Set  a  figure  yourself." 

"Hain't  got  no  figger  in  mind." 

"Mr.  Baines,  I'll  be  frank  with  you.  I  want  your 
railroad." 

"So  I  jedged,"  said  Scattergood. 

"I  need  it.  I'll  pay  you  a  profit  of  fifty  thousand — 
and  that's  my  last  word." 

Scattergood  closed  his  eyes,  opened  them  again,  and  sat 
erect.  "Now  that  business  is  over  with,"  he  said,  "better 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         109 

come  up  and  set  down  to  table  with  Mandy  and  me. 
Mandy's  cookin'  is  considered  some  better  'n  at  the  hotel." 

"You  refuse?" 

"I  was  wonderin',"  said  Scattergood,  "if  you  had  any 
notion  if  I  could  buy  the  Goodhue  timber  reasonable?" 

"Eh?"  said  Mr.  Castle,  startled.  "The  Goodhue 
timber?" 

"Back  of  Tupper  Falls." 

"Who  told—"  Mr.  Castle  snapped  his  teeth  together 
sharply. 

"Leetle  bird,"  said  Scattergood.    "Dinner's  ready." 

"There  might  come  a  time  when  you'd  be  mighty  glad 
to  sell  for  less  than  I'm  offering." 

"Once  there  was  a  boy,"  said  Scattergood,  "and  he  up 
and  says  to  another  boy,  'I  kin  lick  you.'  The  story  come 
to  me  that  the  boy  sort  of  overestimated  his  weight." 

"I'm  not  threatening  you,"  said  Castle. 

"It's  a  privilege  I  don't  deny  to  nobody.  .  .  .  Say,  Mr. 
Castle,  be  you  goin'  into  this  deal  to  make  money  or  to 
take  somebody's  scalp?" 

"Baines,"  said  Mr.  Castle,  "I'll  buy  you  the  best  box 
of  cigars  in  Boston  if  you'll  tell  me  where  you  get  your 
information." 

"Hatch  it,"  said  Scattergood,  gravely.  "Jest  set 
patient  onto  the  egg,  and  perty  soon  the  shell  busts  and 
there  stands  the  information  all  fluffy  and  wabbly  and 
ready  to  grow  up  into  a  chicken  if  it's  used  right." 

"Will  you  answer  a  fair  question?" 

"If  our  idees  of  the  fairness  of  it  agrees  with  one 
another." 

"Has  McKettrick  got  to  you  first?" 

It  was  the  information  Scattergood  wanted,  but  his 
dumplinglike  face  showed  no  sign  of  satisfaction.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  did  not  know  who  McKettrick  was — but 
he  could  find  out.  "Don't  seem  to  recall  any  conversation 


110  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

with  him/'  he  said,  cautiously,  leaving  Castle  to  believe 
what  he  desired — and  Castle  believed. 

"He  was  keeping  his  plans  almighty  dark.  I  don't 
understand  his  spilling  them  to  you.  It  cost  me  money 
to  find  out." 

"Dinner's  waitin',"  said  Scattergood. 

"Did  he  offer  to  buy  your  road?" 

"If  he  did,"  said  Scattergood,  "it  didn't  come  to 
nothin'." 

It  will  be  observed  that  Scattergood  had  obtained  im- 
portant information,  though  affording  none,  and  in  addi- 
tion had  surrounded  himself  with  a  haze  through  which 
President  Castle  was  unable  to  see  clearly.  Castle  knew 
less  after  the  interview  than  he  had  known  when  he  came; 
Scattergood  had  discovered  all  he  hoped  to  discover. 

Johnnie  Bones  came  home  next  noon  and  reported  to 
Scattergood  that  he  had  been  partially  successful. 

"I  couldn't  get  all  of  that  flat,"  he  said.  "Somebody's 
been  buying  on  the  quiet.  Three  strips  from  the  river  to 
the  hill  were  not  to  be  had,  but  I  bought  four  strips,  two 
at  the  ends  and  two  between  the  pieces  I  couldn't  get." 

"Better  call  it  a  side  of  bacon,  Johnnie.  Strip  of  fat 
and  strip  of  lean.  Dunno  but  it's  better  as  it  lays.  Hear 
anythin'  about  the  Goodhue  tract?" 

"Somebody's  been  cruising  it  for  a  month  back — with- 
out a  brass  band." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Send  a  wire,  Johnnie.  Lumberman's  Trust 
Company,  Boston.  Set  price  Goodhue  tract.  .  .  ." 

Johnnie  telephoned  the  wire.  Two  hours  later  the 
answer  came,  "Goodhue  tract  no  longer  in  our  hands." 

"Did  you  ever  wonder,  Johnnie,  why  I  never  got 
int'rested  into  that  Goodhue  timber?  " 

Johnnie  shook  his  head. 

"Because,"  said  Scattergood,  "you  got  to  log  it  by  rail. 
Forty  thousand  acres  of  it,  and  no  stream  runnin'  through 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         ill 

it  big  enough  to  drive  logs  down.  .  .  .  But  I  got  an  idee, 
Johnnie,  that  loggin'  by  rail  can  be  done  economical. 
Know  who  bought  that  timber?" 

"No." 

"McKettrick  of  the  Seaboard  Box  and  Paper  Company, 
biggest  concern  of  the  kind  in  America.  Calc'late  they'll 
be  makin'  pulp  here  to  ship  to  their  paper  mills.  Calc'late 
I'll  give  'ern  a  commodity  rate  of  around  seven  cents  to 
the  G.  and  B.  Johnnie,  our  orchard's  goin'  to  begin  givin' 
a  crop.  That  '11  give  us  sixteen  dollars  and  eighty  cents 
for  haulin'  a  minimum  car  of  twenty-four  thousand.  And 
this  hain't  goin'  to  be  any  one-car  mill,  neither.  Five  cars 
a  day  '11  be  increasin'  our  revenue  twenty-four  thousand 
three  hunderd  dollars  a  year — on  outgoin'  freight.  Then 
there's  incomin'  freight  to  figger.  All  we  got  to  do  is  set 
still  and  take  that.  Beauty  of  controllin'  the  transporta- 
tion of  a  region.  But  it  seems  like  we  ought  to  git  more 
out  of  it  than  that — if  we  stir  around  some.  Especial  when 
you  come  to  consider  that  McKettrick  and  Castle  is  flyin' 
at  each  other's  throats.  It's  a  situation,  Johnnie,  that 
man  owes  a  duty  to  himself  to  take  advantage  of." 

Scattergood  went  back  to  his  hardware  store  and  seated 
himself  on  the  piazza.  Presently  a  team  drove  up  from 
down  the  valley  and  a  tall,  gaunt  individual,  with  hair  of 
the  color  of  a  dead  leaf,  alighted. 

"I  was  told  I  could  find  a  man  named  Scattergood 
Baines  here,"  he  said. 

"You  kin,"  Scattergood  replied. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Sich  as  he  is,"  said  Scattergood,  "you  see  him." 

The  man  looked  from  Scattergood's  shoeless  feet  and 
white  woolen  socks  to  Scattergood's  shabby,  baggy  trous- 
ers, and  then  on  upward,  by  slow  and  disapproving  de- 
grees, to  Scattergood's  guileless  face,  and  there  the  scrutiny 
stopped. 


112  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Some  mistake,"  he  said;  "I  want  the  owner  of  the 
Coldriver  Valley  Railroad." 

"  It  may  be  a  mistake,"  said  Scattergood.  "  Calc'late  it 
is  a  mistake  to  own  a  railroad.  But  'tain't  the  only  mis- 
take I  ever  made." 

"Fouown  the  road?" 

"Calc'late  to." 

Evidently  the  stranger  was  not  impressed  by  Scatter- 
good  in  a  manner  to  arouse  him  to  a  notable  exertion  of 
courtesy.  He  allowed  it  to  appear  in  his  manner  that  he 
set  a  light  value  on  Scattergood;  in  fact,  that  it  was  not 
exactly  pleasant  to  him  to  be  compelled  to  do  business 
with  such  a  human  being.  Scattergood's  eyes  twinkled 
and  he  wriggled  his  toes. 

"Well,  Baines,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  want  to  talk  busi- 
ness to  you." 

"Step  into  my  private  office,"  said  Scattergood,  motion- 
ing to  a  chair  at  his  side,  "and  rest  your  legs." 

"I'm  thinking  of  establishing  a  plant  below,"  said 
the  stranger.  "A  very  considerable  plant.  In  studying 
the  situation  it  seems  as  if  your  railroad  might  be 
run  as  an  adjunct  to  my  business.  I  suppose  it  can  be 
bought." 

"Supposing"  said  Scattergood,  "is  free  as  air." 

"I'll  take  it  off  your  hands  at  a  fair  figure." 

"'Tain't  layin'  heavy  on  my  hands,"  said  Scattergood. 

"How  much  did  it  cost  you?" 

"A  heap  less  'n  I'll  sell  for.  .  .  .  You  hain't  mentioned 
your  name." 

"McKettrick." 

Scattergood  nodded. 

"I'd  sell  to  a  man  of  that  name." 

"How  much?" 

"One  million  dollars,"  said  Scattergood. 

"You're — you're  crazy,"  said  McKettrick.    It  was  an 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         113 

exclamation  of  disgust,  a  statement  of  belief,  and  a  cry  of 
pain.  "  I  might  go  a  quarter  of  a  million." 

"This  here's  a  one-price  store — marked  plain  on  the 
goods.  Customers  is  requested  not  to  haggle." 

"You're  not  serious?" 

"One  million  dollars." 

"I'll  build  a  road  down  my  side  of  the  river." 

"Maybe.  Can  be  done.  Twelve  mile  of  tunnel  and  the 
rest  trestle.  Wouldn't  cost  more  'n  fifteen,  twenty  million 
— if  you're  figgerin'  on  the  west  side  of  the  stream.  .  .  . 
How  you  figgerin'  on  gettin'  your  pulp  wood  down  to 
Tupper  Falls?" 

"What?  .  .  .    What's  that?" 

"Goin'  to  log,  yourself,  or  job  it?" 

"  Look  here,  Baines,  what  do  you  know?  " 

"  About  what's  needful.     I  try  to  keep  posted." 

"Tell  me  what  you  know.     I  insist." 

Scattergood  opened  his  eyes  and  peered  over  his  dump- 
ling cheeks  at  McKettrick,  but  said  nothing. 

"And  how  you  found  it  out." 

"I've  been  figgerin'  over  your  case,"  said  Scattergood. 
"I'll  give  you  a  sidetrack  into  your  yards  pervidin'  you 
pay  the  cost  of  bridgin'  and  layin'  the  track,  me  to  furnish 
ties  and  rails.  Also,  I'll  give  you  a  commodity  rate  of 
seven  cents  to  the  G.  and  B.  As  to  sellin',  I  don't  calc'late 
you  want  to  buy  at  a  million.  But  that  hain't  no  sign  you 
and  me  can't  do  business.  You  got  to  log  by  rail.  You 
got  to  cut  consid'able  number  of  cords  of  pulpwood.  I'll 
build  your  loggin'  road,  and  I'll  contract  to  cut  your  pulp 
and  deliver  it. ...  Want  to  go  into  it  with  me?  " 

McKettrick  peered  at  Scattergood  with  awakened  in- 
terest. His  scrutiny  told  him  nothing. 

"What  backing  have  you?" 

"My  own." 

McKettrick  almost  sneered. 


114  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Been  lookin'  me  up?"  asked  Scattergood. 

"No." 

"Let's  step  to  the  bank." 

McKettrick  followed  Scattergood's  bulky  figure — 
wondering. 

In  the  bank  Scattergood  presented  the  treasurer.  "Mr. 
Noble,  meet  Mr.  McKettrick.  He  wants  you  should  tell 
him  somethin'  about  me.  For  instance,  Noble,  about  how 
fur  you  calc'late  my  credit  could  be  stretched." 

"Mr.  Baines  would  have  no  difficulty  borrowing  from 
five  hundred  thousand  to  three  quarters  of  a  million," 
said  Noble. 

"How's  his  reppitation  for  keepin'  his  word?"  said 
Scattergood. 

"The  whole  state  knows  your  word  is  kept  to  the  letter." 

"What  you  calc'late  I'm  wuth — visible  prop'ty?" 

"I'd  say  a  million  and  a  half  to  two  millions." 

"Backin'  enough  to  suit  you,  Mr.  McKettrick?"  asked 
Scattergood. 

McKettrick  wore  a  dazed  look.  Scattergood  did  not 
look  like  two  millions;  he  did  not  look  like  ten  thousand. 
His  bearing  became  more  respectful. 

"I'll  listen  to  any  proposition  you  wish  to  make,"  he 
said. 

"Come  over  to  Johnnie  Bones's,"  said  Scattergood. 

In  a  moment  they  were  sitting  in  Johnnie's  office,  and 
McKettrick  and  Johnnie  were  acquainted. 

"Here's  my  proposition,"  said  Scattergood.  "I'll  build 
and  equip  a  loggin'  road  accordin'  to  your  surveys.  You 
furnish  right  of  way  and  enough  money  to  give  you  forty- 
nine  per  cent  of  the  stock  in  the  company  we'll  form.  I 
kin  build  cheaper  'n  you,  and  I  know  the  country  and  kin 
git  the  labor.  You  pay  the  new  railroad  a  set  price  for 
haulin'  pulp  wood — say  dollar  'n  a  quarter  to  two  dollars 
a  cord,  as  we  figger  it  later.  .  .  .  Then  I'll  take  the  job  of 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS          115 

loggin'  for  you  and  layin'  down  the  pulpwood  at  sid- 
ings. It  '11  save  you  labor  and  expense  and  trouble.  I've 
showed  I  was  responsible.  The  new  railroad  company  '11 
put  up  bonds,  and  so  '11  the  loggin'  company — if  you  say 
so." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  some  weeks  of  negotiations, 
during  which  Scattergood  became  convinced  that  McKet- 
trick  was  wishful  of  using  him  so  long  as  he  proved  useful; 
then,  when  the  day  arrived  for  a  showing  of  profit  on  the 
profit  sheet,  the  same  McKettrick  was  planning  to  see 
that  no  profit  would  be  there  and  that  Scattergood  Baines 
should  be  eliminated  from  consideration — to  McKettrick's 
profit  in  the  sum  of  whatever  amount  Scattergood  invested 
in  the  construction  of  the  railroad.  It  was  a  situation  that 
exactly  suited  Scattergood's  love  of  business  excitement. 

"If  McKettrick  had  come  up  here  wearin'  better  man- 
ners," said  Scattergood  to  Johnnie,  "and  if  he  hadn't  got 
himself  all  rigged  out  as  little  Red  Ridin'  Hood's  grand- 
mother—figgerin'  I'd  qualify  for  little  Red  Ridin'  Hood 
without  the  eyesight  for  big  ears  and  big  teeth  that  little 
girl  had — why,  I  might  'a'  give  him  a  reg'lar  business  deal. 
But  seein's  he's  as  he  is,  I  calc'late  I'm  privileged  to  git 
what  I  kin  git." 

Therefore  Scattergood  made  it  a  clause  in  the  contract 
that  all  the  stock  in  the  new  railroad  and  construction 
company  should  remain  in  his  own  name  until  the  road 
was  completed  and  ready  to  operate.  Then  49  per  cent 
should  be  transferred  to  McKettrick.  This  McKettrick 
regarded  as  a  harmless  eccentricity  of  the  lamb  he  was 
about  to  fleece. 

The  new  company  was  organized  with  Johnnie  Bones 
as  president,  Scattergood  as  treasurer,  an  employee  of 
McKettrick's  as  secretary,  and  Mandy  Baines  and  another 
employee  of  McKettrick's  as  the  remaining  two  directors. 

While  the  negotiations  regarding  the  railroad  were  being 


116  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

carried  on,  another  matter  arose  to  irritate  Mr.  McKet- 
trick,  and,  in  some  measure,  to  take  the  keen  edge  off  his 
attention.  Scattergood  usually  endeavored  to  have  some 
matter  arise  to  irritate  and  distract  when  he  was  engaged 
on  a  major  operation,  and  it  was  for  this  reason  he  had 
bought  the  four  strips  of  land  at  Tupper  Falls. 

McKettrick  awoke  suddenly  to  find  that  his  men  had 
not  secured  the  site  for  his  mills,  and  that,  apparently,  it 
could  not  be  secured.  He  discussed  the  thing  with  Scat- 
tergood. 

"Prob'ly  some  old  scissor  bills  that  got  a  notion  of 
hangin'  on  to  their  land,"  Scattergood  said. 

"It  can't  be  that,  for  the  sales  to  the  present  owners 
were  recent.  The  new  owners  refuse  absolutely  to  sell." 

"And  pulp  mills  hain't  got  no  right  of  eminent  domain 
like  railroads." 

"All  substantial  businesses  ought  to  have  it,"  said 
McKettrick.  "You  know  these  folks.  I  wish  you'd  see 
what  you  can  do." 

"Glad  to,"  Scattergood  promised,  and  two  days  later  he 
reported  that  all  four  landowners  might  be  brought  to 
terms.  Three  would  sell,  surely;  one  was  holding  back 
strangely,  but  the  three  had  put  the  matter  into  the  hands 
of  a  local  real-estate  and  insurance  broker,  by  name 
Wangen.  "We'll  go  see  him,"  said  Scattergood. 

Which  they  did.  "My  clients,"  said  Wangen,  impor- 
tantly, "realize  the  value  of  their  property.  That,  I  may 
say,  is  why  they  bought." 

"  It  cost  the  three  of  'em  less  'n  three  thousand  dollars 
for  the  three  passels,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Prices  have  gone  up,"  said  Wangen. 

"Give  them  two  hundred  dollars  profit  apiece,"  said 
McKettrick. 

"Consid'able  difference  between  givin'  it  and  their  takin' 
it,"  said  Scattergood. 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         117 

"I  agree  with  that,"  said  Wangen. 

"Now,  Wangen,  you  and  me  has  done  consid'able  busi- 
ness," said  Scattergood,  "and  you  hain't  goin'  to  hold  up 
a  friend  of  mine." 

"If  it  was  a  personal  thing,  Mr.  Baines;  but  I've  got  to 
do  my  best  for  my  clients." 

"What's  your  proposition?" 

"Five  thousand  dollars  apiece  for  the  three  strips." 

"It's  an  outrage,"  roared  McKettrick.  "I'll  never  be 
robbed  like  that." 

"Take  it,"  said  Wangen,  "or  leave  it." 

"You've  got  to  have  it,"  Scattergood  whispered. 

McKettrick  spluttered  and  stormed  and  pleaded,  but 
Wangen  was  firm  and  gave  but  one  answer.  There  could 
be  but  one  result:  McKettrick  wrote  a  check  for  fifteen 
thousand  dollars — and  still  had  one  strip  to  buy — a  strip 
not  at  an  edge  of  his  mill  site,  but  bisecting  it. 

This  strip  caused  the  worry  when  Scattergood  needed 
attention  distracted  the  most.  But  Scattergood  managed 
finally  to  secure  it  for  McKettrick  for  seventy-five  hundred 
dollars.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  how  Scattergood  resorted  to 
the  law  of  necessity,  and  how  McKettrick  suffered  from 
failure  to  build  securely  his  commercial  structure  from  its 
foundation.  Twenty-two  thousand  two  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  were  paid  by  McKettrick  for  land  that  had  cost 
Scattergood  exactly  three  thousand  six  hundred  dollars. 
Scattergood  believed  in  always  paying  for  services  ren- 
dered, so  Wangen  and  each  of  the  four  ostensible  land- 
owners were  given  a  hundred  dollars.  Net  profit  to  Scat- 
tergood, eighteen  thousand  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 

"Which  it  wouldn't  'a'  cost  him  if  he  hadn't  looked 
sneerin'  at  my  stockin'  feet."  said  Scattergood  to  Johnnie 
Bones. 

Johnnie  Bones  prepared  the  papers  for  the  incorporation 
of  the  new  railroad,  and  the  organization  was  perfected. 


118  SCATTERGOOD^  BAINES 

There  were  two  thousand  shares  of  one  hundred  dollars 
each.  McKettrick  put  in  his  right  of  way  at  five  thousand, 
an  excessive  figure,  as  Scattergood  knew  well,  and  gave 
his  check  for  the  balance  of  his  49  per  cent.  Scattergood 
deposited  a  check  for  his  51  per  cent,  or  one  hundred  and 
two  thousand  dollars.  Work  was  begun  grading  the  right 
of  way  immediately. 

McKettrick  vanished  from  the  region  and  did  not  ap- 
pear again  except  for  flying  visits  to  his  rising  plant  at 
Tupper  Falls.  He  never  inspected  so  much  as  a  foot  of 
the  new  railroad  back  into  the  Goodhue  tract — and  this, 
Scattergood  very  correctly  took  to  be  suspicious.  The 
work  was  left  utterly  in  Scattergood's  hands,  with  no 
check  upon  him  and  no  inspection.  It  was  not  like  a 
man  of  McKettrick's  character — unless  there  were  an 
object. 

Once  or  twice  Scattergood  encountered  President  Castle 
of  the  G.  &  B.  while  the  road  was  building. 

"  Hear  you're  putting  in  a  logging  road  for  McKettrick," 
he  said. 

"  For  me,"  said  Scattergood.  "Stock  stands  in  my  name. 
Calc'late  to  operate  it  myself." 

"Oh!"  said  Castle,  and  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the 
window  ledge.  Scattergood  said  nothing. 

"Own  the  right  of  way?"  asked  Castle. 

"'Tain't  precisely  a  right  of  way,"  said  Scattergood. 
"It's  a  easement,  or  property  right,  or  whatever  the 
lawyers  would  call  it,  to  run  tracks  over  any  part  of 
McKettrick's  property  and  operate  a  loggin'  railroad — 
where  McKettrick  says  he  wants  to  get  logs  from." 

"No  definite  right  of  way?" 

"Jest  what  I  described." 

"Capitalized  for  two  hundred  thousand,  I  see." 

"Uh-huh!" 

"Any  stock  for  sale?" 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         119 

"Not  at  the  present  writinV 

"At  a  price?" 

"Wa-al,  now—" 

"Say  a  profit  of  twenty  dollars  a  share." 

"It  'H  pay  dividends  on  more  'n  that  figger,"  said  Scat- 
tergood,  "which,"  he  added,  "you  know  dum  well." 

"Yes,"  said  Castle,  "but  for  a  quick  turnover  —  and 
I'm  not  figuring  dividends  altogether." 

"Kind  of  got  a  bone  to  pick  with  McKettrick,  eh?" 

"Maybe." 

"Tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said  Scattergood.  "I'll  sell 
you  forty-nine  per  cent  of  the  stock  at  a  hunderd  and 
twenty.  Stock  to  stand  in  my  name  till  the  road's  ready 
to  operate.  I  don't  want  it  known  I've  been  sellin'  any. 
.  .  .  Shouldn't  be  s'prised  if  you  was  able  to  pick  up 
control  one  way  and  another — but  I  hain't  goin'  to 
sell  it  to  you." 

"I  see,"  said  Castle,  closing  his  eyes  and  squinting 
through  a  slit  between  the  lids.  "  It's  a  deal,  Mr.  Baines," 
he  said,  presently. 

"Cash,"  said  Scattergood. 

"You'll  find  a  certified  check  in  the  mail  the  day  after  I 
get  the  proper  papers." 

Which  transaction  gave  Scattergood  another  profit  on 
the  whole  affair  of  nineteen  thousand  six  hundred  dollars 
— this  time  a  capitalization  of  the  spite  of  man  toward 
man.  It  will  be  seen  that  McKettrick  owned  49  per  cent 
of  the  stock,  Castle,  49  per  cent,  and  Scattergood,  2  per 
cent.  He  was  now  in  a  position  to  await  developments. 

They  arrived  as  the  railway  was  on  the  point  of  running 
its  first  train.  McKettrick  brought  them  in  person.  He 
burst  upon  Scattergood  as  Scattergood  sat  in  front  of  his 
hardware  store,  and  began  to  storm. 

"  What's  this?  What's  this?  "  he  roared.  "  What's  that 
railroad  doing  up  the  easterly  side  of  our  timber?  It's 


120  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

waste  money,  lost  money.  It  '11  have  to  be  rebuilt.  We've 
made  all  arrangements  to  cut  off  the  westerly  side.  Now 
we'll  have  to  swamp  roads  and  log  by  team  till  the  road 
can  be  moved." 

"Urn!  .  .  ."  said  Scattergood,  "so  that's  it,  eh?  I  was 
wonderin'  how  it  would  come." 

"It  was  an  inexcusable  blunder,  and  it'll  cost  you 
money.  You  know  how  the  railroad's  contract  with  the 
company  reads.  Who  gave  you  directions  to  run  up  the 
easterly  side?" 

"My  engineer  got  'em  in  your  office." 

"Oh,  your  engineer.  He  made  the  mistake,  eh?  Then 
the  mistake's  yours,  all  right,  for  every  scrap  of  writing 
in  our  office  has  the  word  'westerly'  in  it,  plain  and 
distinct.  It  means  tearing  up  those  rails,  grading  a  new 
line — and  you'll  pay  for  it.  I  sha'n't  stand  loss  for 
your  mistake.  It  '11  cost  you  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  for  that  blunder." 

"Hain't  you  discoverin'  it  a  mite  late?" 

"It  was  left  wholly  to  you." 

"Seems  like  I  noticed  it,"  said  Scattergood.  "So  all 
that  work's  lost,  eh?  Seems  a  pity,  too." 

"You  don't  seem  to  take  it  seriously." 

"You  bet  I  do,  and  I  calc'late  to  look  into  it  some." 

"It  won't  do  any  good.    The  mistake  is  plain." 

"Shouldn't  be  s'prised.  I  git  your  idee,  McKettrick. 
You've  been  figgerin'  from  the  start  on  smougin'  me  out 
of  what  I  invested  in  that  road,  eh?  ...  By  the  way,  your 
stock's  in  your  name.  I'll  git  the  certificates  out  of  the 
safe." 

McKettrick  shoved  the  envelope  in  his  pocket.  "The 
Seaboard  Box  and  Paper  Company  will  force  you  to  re- 
move your  tracks  from  our  land.  I'll  sue  you  for  damages 
for  your  blunder.  The  Seaboard  will  sue  the  new  railroad 
for  damages  for  failure  to  have  the  tracks  into  the  cuttings 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         121 

on  time.  I  guess  when  we  begin  collecting  judgments  by 
levying  on  the  new  road,  there  won't  be  much  of  it  left. 
The  Seaboard  will  come  pretty  close  to  owning  it." 

"And  you  and  I  will  be  frozen  out,  eh?"  said  Scatter- 
good. 

McKettrick  purred  and  smiled.  "Exactly,"  he  said. 
"Now,  my  advice  to  you  is  not  to  fight  the  thing.  You 
can't  deny  the  blunder  and  you'll  save  cost  of  litigation." 

"What's  your  proposition?" 

"Transfer  your  stock  to  the  Seaboard." 

"And  lose  a  hunderd  and  two  thousand?" 

"It's  not  our  fault  if  you  make  expensive  mistakes." 

"Course  not,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  admit  I  hain't 
much  on  litigation.  S'posin'  you  and  me  meets  in  Boston 
to-morrow  with  our  lawyers,  and  sort  of  figger  this  thing 
out." 

"There's  nothing  to  figure  out — but  I'll  meet  you 
to-morrow.  You're  sensible  to  settle." 

"Calc'late  I  be,"  said  Scattergood. 

That  afternoon  Johnnie  Bones  carried  President  Castle's 
49  per  cent  of  the  railroad's  stock  to  the  G.  &  B.  offices, 
and  gave  them  into  the  hands  of  the  railroad's  chief 
executive. 

"Mr.  Baines  will  be  here  to-morrow.  There  will  be  a 
meeting  at  his  hotel  at  three  o'clock.  McKettrick  will  be 
there." 

"I'll  come,"  said  President  Castle. 

The  meeting  was  held  in  the  shabby  hotel  which  Scat- 
tergood patronized.  McKettrick  was  there  with  his  attor- 
ney, Scattergood  was  there  with  Johnnie  Bones — and  last 
came  President  Castle. 

At  his  entrance  McKettrick  scowled  and  leaped  to  his 
feet. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  he  demanded. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Castle,  with  a  smile  which  descended 


122  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

into  great  depths  of  disagreeability,  "I  own  forty-nine 
per  cent  of  the  stock  in  this  concern.  I  imagine  I  have 
a  right  to  be  here." 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  McKettrick  glared  at 
Scattergood,  who  sat  placidly  removing  his  shoes. 

"Calc'late  I'll  relieve  my  feet,"  he  said. 

"So  I  got  you,  too,"  McKettrick  said  to  Castle.  "I 
didn't  figure  on  that  luck." 

"Got  me?     I'm  interested." 

McKettrick  explained  at  length,  and,  as  he  explained, 
Castle  glared  at  him,  and  then  at  Scattergood,  with  in- 
creasing rage.  As  he  saw  it  there  was  a  plot  between 
Scattergood  and  McKettrick  to  get  him — and  he  appeared 
to  have  been  gotten.  He  started  to  speak,  but  Scattergood 
stopped  him. 

"Jest  a  minute,  Mr.  Castle,"  he  said.  " 'Tain't  time  for 
you  to  cuss  yet.  Maybe  you  won't  git  to  do  no  reg'lar 
cussin'  a-tall.  You  see,  McKettrick  he  up  and  made  a 
little  error  himself.  Regardin'  me  makin'  an  error.  Yass. 
...  I  don't  calc'late  to  make  errors  costin'  upward  of  a 
hunderd  thousand.  No.  .  .  .  Not,"  he  said,  "that  I  got 
any  doubts  about  the  word  'westerly'  appearin'  in  all 
the  papers  McKettrick's  got  regardin'  this  enterprise. 
What  I  doubt  some  is  whether  the  word  'westerly'  was 
there  right  from  the  start  off  of  the  beginnin'.  In  other 
words,  it  looks  to  me  kind  of  as  if  McKettrick  had  done  a 
mite  of  fixin'  up  to  them  documents.  Rubbin'  out  and 
writin'  in,  so  to  speak." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  said  McKettrick.  "Of  course  that  is 
what  you  would  charge." 

"McKettrick,"  said  Scattergood,  "did  you  figger  I'd 
take  notes  in  lead  pencil  on  my  cuff  of  where  I  was  to  build 
that  railroad?  Did  you  figger  I  was  goin'  to  lay  down  a 
railroad  without  knowin'  the  place  I  put  it  was  where  it 
b'longed?  Castle  he  knows  me  better 'n  you,  and  he 


HE  MAKES  IT  ROUND  NUMBERS         123 

wouldn't  guess  I'd  do  sich  a  thing.  No,  sir,  Mr.  McKet- 
trick.  I  took  them  original  papers  out  of  your  office  for 
jest  a  day,  and  bein'  as  they  constituted  an  easement  on 
land,  I  got  'em  recorded  in  the  office  of  the  recorder  of 
deeds.  Paid  reg'lar  money  in  fees  to  have  it  done.  And 
who  you  think  I  got  to  compare  the  records  with  the  orig- 
inal in  case  somethin'  come  up,  eh?  Why,  the  circuit 
jedge  of  this  county  and  the  prosecutin'  attorney — they 
both  bein'  pers'nal  and  p'litical  friends  of  mine. . .  .  That's 
what  I  done,  and  if  you'll  search  them  records  you'll  find 
the  word  'easterly'  standin'  cool  and  ca'm  in  every  place 
where  it  ought  to  be.  ...  So,  if  you're  figgerin'  on  litiga- 
tion, I  guess  maybe  we'll  litigate,  eh?" 

"These  are  the  references  to  the  records,"  said  Johnnie 
Bones,  laying  a  memorandum  on  the  table.  "You'll  find 
them  correct." 

"Knowing  Baines  as  I  do,"  said  President  Castle,  "I'm 
satisfied." 

McKettrick  and  his  attorney  were  conversing  in  hoarse 
whispers.  McKettrick  looked  like  a  man  who  had  come 
out  of  a  warm  bath  into  a  cold-storage  room.  He  was 
speechless,  but  his  lawyer  spoke  for  him. 

"You  win,"  he  said,  succinctly. 

"Always  calc'late  to  when  I  kin,"  said  Scattergood. 
"Now,  don't  hurry,  gentlemen.  I  got  another  leetle  mat- 
ter to  call  to  your  attention.  McKettrick  there's  got 
forty-nine  per  cent  of  the  stock  in  the  railroad  that's 
built  where  it  ought  to  be,  and  Castle's  got  another  forty- 
nine  per  cent.  That  leaves  two  men  with  all  but  two  per 
cent  of  the  stock,  and  neither  of  them  in  control.  If  I 
know  them  men  they  hain't  apt  to  git  together  and  agree 
peaceable  and  reasonable.  Therefore,  the  feller  that  has 
the  remainin'  two  per  cent  of  the  stock,  or  forty  shares, 
stands  perty  clost  to  controllin'  the  corporation,  eh?  Hun 
votin'  with  either  of  the  forty-nine  per  cents?  Sounds 


124  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

that  way,  don't  it?  ...  And  I  got  that  two  per  cent. . . . 
Do  I  hear  any  suggestions?" 

Castle  stood  up  and  bowed.  "  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you, 
Baines.  ...  I  bid  ten  thousand." 

"Eleven,"  choked  McKettrick. 

"This  here  road's  goin'  to  be  mighty  profitable.  Con- 
tract with  the  Seaboard  folks  makes  it  look  like  it  would 
pay  eighteen,  twenty  per  cent  on  the  investment,  maybe 
more.  And  control — hain't  that  wuth  a  figger?" 

"Fifteen,"  said  Castle. 

"Sixteen." 

"Seventeen  five  hundred." 

"That's  enough,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  got  a  leetle 
grudge  ag'in'  McKettrick  for  havin'  bad  manners,  and  for 
regardin7  me  as  somethin'  to  pick  and  eat.  It  '11  hurt  him 
some  to  have  you  control  this  road,  Castle,  so  you  git  it, 
at  seventeen  thousand  five  hunderd.  I  don't  want  to  burn 
you,  and  I  calc'late  the  figger  you're  payin'  is  clost  to  bein' 
fair.  I'm  satisfied.  Write  a  check." 

Castle  drew  out  his  check  book,  and  in  a  moment  passed 
the  valuable  slip  across  to  Scattergood.  "Thankee,"  said 
Baines,  "and  good  day.  . . .  Another  time,  McKettrick, 
don't  look  sneerin'  at  white  woolen  socks." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room,  followed  by  Johnnie  Bones. 

"Perty  fair  deal  for  a  scissor  bill,"  said  Scattergood. 
"This  last  check,  deductin'  four  thousand  as  cost  of  stock, 
gives  me  a  profit  of  twelve  thousand  two  hunderd  and  fifty 
for  the  day.  Add  that  to  eighteen  thousand  one  hunderd 
and  fifty  on  the  strips  of  land,  and  nineteen  thousand  six 
hunderd  on  the  stock  I  sold  Castle  first,  and  what  do  we 
git?" 

"Even  fifty  thousand,"  said  Johnnie. 

"I  always  did  cotton  to  round  figgers,"  said  Scatter- 
good,  comfortably.  "  Let's  git  us  a  meal  of  vittles." 


CHAPTER  VI 

INSURANCE    THAT    DID    NOT    LAPSE 

OCATTERGOOD  BAINES  was  not  a  man  to  shingle 
*-}  his  roof  before  he  built  his  foundations.  He  knew  the 
value  of  shingles,  and  was  not  without  some  appreciation 
for  frescoes  and  porticoes  and  didos,  but  he  liked  to  reach 
them  in  the  ordinary  course  of  logical  procedure.  His 
completed  structure,  according  to  the  plans  carefully 
printed  on  his  brain,  was  the  domination  of  Coldriver  Val- 
ley through  ownership  of  its  means  of  transportation  and 
of  its  water  power.  He  wanted  to  be  rich,  not  for  the  sake 
of  being  rich,  but  because  a  great  deal  of  money  is,  aside 
from  love  or  hate,  the  most  powerful  lever  in  the  world. 
For  five  years,  now,  Scattergood  had  moved  along  slowly 
and  irresistibly,  buying  a  bit  of  timber  here,  acquiring  a 
dam  site  there,  taking  over  the  stage  line  to  the  railroad 
twenty-four  miles  away,  and  establishing  a  credit  and  a 
reputation  for  shrewdness  that  were  worth  much  more  to 
him  than  dollars  and  cents  in  the  bank. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Scattergood  had  amassed  consider- 
able more  money  than  even  the  gimlet  eyes  and  whisper- 
ing tongues  of  Coldriver  had  been  able  to  credit  him  with. 
It  is  doubtful  if  anybody  realized  just  how  strong  a  foot- 
hold Scattergood  was  getting  in  that  valley,  but  the  men 
who  came  closest  to  it  were  Messrs.  Crane  and  Keith, 
lumbermen,  who  were  beginning  to  experience  a  feeling 
of  growing  irritation  toward  the  fat  hardware  merchant. 
They  were  irritated  because,  every  now  and  then,  they 
found  themselves  shut  off  from  the  water,  or  from  a  bit  of 


126  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

timber,  or  from  some  other  desirable  property,  by  some 
small  holding  of  Scattergood's  which  seemed  to  have 
dropped  into  just  the  right  spot  to  create  the  maximum 
amount  of  trouble  for  them.  It  could  be  nothing  but 
chance,  they  told  each  other,  for  they  had  sat  in  judgment 
on  Scattergood,  and  their  judgment  had  been  that  he  was 
a  lazy  lout  with  more  than  a  fair  share  of  luck. 

"It's  nothing  but  luck,"  Crane  told  his  partner.  "The 
man  hasn't  a  brain  in  his  head — just  a  big  lump  of  fat." 

"But  he's  always  getting  in  the  way — and  he  does  seem 
to  know  a  water-power  site  when  he  sees  it." 

"Anybody  does,"  said  Crane.  "He's  a  doggone  nui- 
sance and  we  might  as  well  settle  with  him  one  time  as 
another — and  the  time  to  settle  is  before  his  luck  gives 
him  a  genuine  strangle  hold  on  this  valley.  We've  got  too 
much  timber  on  these  hills  to  take  any  risks." 

"I  leave  it  with  you,  Crane.  You're  the  outside  man. 
But  when  you  bust  him,  bust  him  good." 

Crane  retired  to  his  office  and  devoted  his  head  to  the 
subject  exclusively,  and  because  Crane's  head  was  that 
sort  of  head  he  devised  an  enterprise  which,  if  Scattergood 
could  be  made  to  involve  himself  in  it,  would  result  in  the 
extinction  of  that  gentleman  in  the  Coldriver  Valley. 

It  was  a  week  later  that  a  gentleman,  whose  clothes  and 
bearing  guaranteed  him  to  be  a  genuine  denizen  of  the 
city,  stopped  at  Scattergood's  store.  Scattergood  was 
sitting,  as  usual,  on  the  piazza,  in  his  especially  reinforced 
chair,  laying  in  wait  for  somebody  to  whom  he  could  sell 
a  bit  of  hardware,  no  matter  how  small. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  gentleman.  "Is  this  Mr. 
Scattergood  Baines?" 

"It's  Scattergood  Baines,  all  right.  Don't  call  to  mind 
bein'  christened  Mister." 

"My  name  is  Blossom." 

"Perty  name,"  said  Scattergood,  unsmilingly. 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       127 

"I  wonder  if  I  can  have  a  little  talk  with  you,  Mr. 
Baines?" 

"Havin'  it,  hain't  you?" 

Mr.  Blossom  smiled  appreciatively,  and  sat  down  beside 
Scattergood.  "  I'm  interested  in  the  new  Higgins's  Bridge 
Pulp  Company.  You've  heard  of  it,  haven't  you?  " 

"Some,"  said  Scattergood.     " Some." 

"We  are  starting  to  build  our  mill.  It  will  be  the 
largest  in  America,  with  the  most  modern  machinery. 
Now  we're  looking  about  for  somebody  to  supply  us 
spruce  cut  to  the  proper  length  for  pulpwood.  You  own 
considerable  spruce,  do  you  not?" 

"Calc'late  to  have  title  to  a  tree  or  two." 

"Good.  I  came  up  to  find  out  if  you  are  in  a  posi- 
tion to  swing  a  rather  big  contract — to  deliver  us  at 
the  mill  a  minimum  of  twenty-five  thousand  cords  of 
pulpwood?" 

"Depends,"  said  Scattergood. 

Mr.  Blossom  drew  a  jackknife  from  his  pocket  and 
began  leisurely  to  sharpen  a  pencil.  It  was  a  rather  bat- 
tered jackknife,  and  Scattergood  noticed  that  one  blade 
had  been  broken  off.  He  stretched  out  his  hand.  "Jack- 
knife's  kind  of  lame,  hain't  it?  Don't  'pear  to  be  as  stylish 
as  the  rest  of  you?" 

"  It  is  a  bit  dilapidated." 

"Got  some  good  ones  inside.  Fine  line  of  jackknives. 
Only  carry  the  best.  Show  'em  to  you." 

He  lifted  himself  out  of  the  groaning  chair  and  went 
into  the  store,  to  return  with  a  dozen  or  more  knives, 
which  he  showed  to  Mr.  Blossom,  and  Mr.  Blossom  looked 
at  them  gravely.  He  was  smiling  to  himself.  A  man  who 
could  interrupt  a  deal  involving  upward  of  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  to  try  to  sell  a  jackknife  certainly  was 
not  of  a  caliber  to  give  serious  worry  to  an  astute  business 
man. 


128  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Recommend  the  pearl-handled  one,"  said  Scattergood. 
"Two  dollars  V  a  half." 

"I'll  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Blossom,  and  he  stuck  his  old 
knife  in  a  post,  replacing  it  in  his  pocket  with  the  new 
purchase. 

"Cash,"  said  Scattergood,  and  Mr.  Blossom  handed 
over  the  currency. 

"Speakin'  of  pulpwood,"  said  Scattergood,  "how  much 
you  figger  on  payin'?" 

Mr.  Blossom  named  a  price,  delivered  at  the  mill. 

"Pay  when?" 

"On  delivery." 

"When  want  it  delivered,  eh?    What  date?" 

"Before  May  first." 

"Water  power  or  steam?"  said  Scattergood,  somewhat 
irrelevantly. 

"Both.  We're  putting  in  steam  engines  and  boilers,  but 
we're  going  to  depend  mostly  on  water  power." 

"  Coin'  to  build  a  dam,  eh?    Big  dam?  " 

"Yes." 

"Urn! ...  Stock  company?" 

"Yes.  We'll  be  solid.  Capitalized  for  a  quarter  of  a 
million  and  bonded  for  a  quarter  of  a  million.  Gives  us 
half  a  million  capital  to  start  business." 

"Stock  all  sold?" 

"Every  share." 

"Who  to?" 

"Mostly  in  small  blocks  in  Boston." 

"Urn!...  Bonds  sold?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  bought 'em?" 

"They're  underwritten  by  the  Commonwealth  Security 
Trust  Company." 

"Want  to  know!  .  .  .  Got  authority?  Vested  with 
authority  to  put  it  in  writin'?" 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       129 

"The  contract,  you  mean?" 

"Calc'late  to  mean  that." 

"Yes." 

"Lawyer  acrost  the  street,"  said  Scattergood. 

"You  can  swing  it?" 

"Calc'late  to." 

"You  have  the  capital  to  make  good?" 

"Know  I  have,  don't  you?  Wouldn't  have  come  to  me 
if  you  hadn't?" 

"You'll  have  to  borrow  heavily." 

"My  lookout,  hain't  it?    Don't  need  to  worry  you?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"Lawyer's  still  acrost  the  street." 

So  Scattergood  and  Mr.  Blossom  went  across  the  street 
and  up  the  narrow  stairs  to  Lawyer  Norton's  office,  where 
a  contract  was  drafted  and  signed,  obligating  Scattergood 
to  deliver  to  the  Higgins's  Bridge  Pulp  Company  twenty- 
five  thousand  cords  of  pulp,  on  or  before  May  1st,  pay- 
ment to  be  made  on  delivery.  Mr.  Blossom  went  away 
wearing  a  satisfied  expression,  and  in  the  course  of  the  day 
sent  to  Crane  &  Keith  a  brief  message,  a  message  of 
two  words.  "He  bit,"  was  the  telegram. 

Scattergood  went  back  to  his  chair,  and  presently 
might  have  been  seen  to  unlace  his  shoes  absent- 
mindedly.  For  an  hour  he  sat  there,  twiddling  his  bare 
toes.  Then  he  got  up,  jerked  Mr.  Blossom's  old  jack- 
knife  from  the  post  where  it  had  been  abandoned,  and 
pocketed  it. 

"If  nothin'  else  happens,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I'm 
figgered  to  make  a  profit  of  sixty  cents  and  a  tradin' 
knife." 

There  followed  a  very  busy  fall  and  winter  for  Scatter- 
good.  Not  that  he  neglected  his  hardware  store,  but  from 
its  porch,  and  later  from  a  post  beside  its  big  stove,  he 
recruited  men  for  his  camps  and  directed  the  labor  of  cut- 


130  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

ting  and  piling  pulpwood  along  the  banks  of  Coldriver. 
Also,  from  time  to  time,  he  visited  various  banks  to  borrow 
the  money  necessary  to  carry  on  the  operation,  sometimes 
on  notes  and  collateral,  sometimes  on  timber  mortgages. 
The  sum  of  his  borrowing  mounted  and  mounted,  until, 
before  the  arrival  of  spring,  his  credit  had  been  strained 
to  the  uttermost. 

Nor  had  the  pulp  company  been  idle.  Its  new  mills 
had  arisen  beside  the  river  at  Higgins's  Bridge,  machinery 
had  been  installed,  and  the  little  hamlet  was  beginning  to 
speculate  in  town  lots  and  to  look  forward  to  unexampled 
prosperity. 

But  before  the  ice  was  out  of  the  river  disquieting  ru- 
mors began  to  breathe  out  of  Higgins's  Bridge.  They  were 
the  meerest  vapor  of  conjecture  at  first,  apparently  based 
upon  no  evidence  whatever,  but  friends  delighted  to  con- 
vey them  to  Scattergood,  as  friends  always  delight  to  per- 
form such  a  disagreeable  duty. 

"Hear  things  hain't  goin'  right  down  to  the  new  pulp 
mill,"  said  Deacon  Pettybone,  one  bitterly  cold  afternoon, 
when  he  came  into  Scattergood's  store  to  thaw  the  icicles 
out  of  his  sparse  beard. 

"Do  tell,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Be  perty  bad  for  you  if  they  was  to  go  wrong,  wouldn't 
it?" 

"Perty  bad,  Deacon." 

"  'Most  ruin  you,  wouldn't  it?  Clean  you  out?  Leave 
you  with  nothin'?" 

"Hain't  mortgaged  my  health.  Hain't  mortgaged  my 
brains.  Have  them  left,  Deacon.  Don't  figger  I'm  clean 
bankrupt  till  them  two  is  gone." 

But  it  was  to  be  noticed  that  Scattergood  toasted  his 
bare  toes  a  great  deal  during  the  ensuing  days.  He 
scarcely  put  on  his  shoes  except  when  he  was  going  out  to 
wallow  through  the  drifts;  and,  as  Coldriver  knew,  when 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       131 

Scattergood  waggled  his  bare  toes  he  was  struggling  with 
a  problem. 

Also  it  might  have  been  noticed  that  he  pored  much 
over  the  detailed  maps  in  the  county  atlas,  studying  the 
flow  of  streams  and  the  lie  of  timber.  It  might  have  been 
seen  that  several  large  blocks  of  timber  had  been  marked 
by  Scattergood  with  red  crosses,  and  that  certain  other 
limits  had  been  blotted  out  in  black.  The  black  pieces 
were  neither  numerous  nor  individually  extensive,  but  they 
belonged  to  Scattergood.  Those  marked  with  red  crosses 
were  the  property  of  Messrs.  Crane  &  Keith. 

Now,  it  may  be  taken  as  axiomatic  that  in  those  early 
days  the  value  of  a  piece  of  timber  depended  upon  its 
accessibility  to  flowing  water  down  which  logs  might  be 
driven.  A  medium  piece  of  timber  on  the  banks  of  a 
stream  which  came  to  plentiful  flood  in  the  spring  was 
worth  more  in  hard  dollars  and  cents  than  a  much  larger 
and  finer  piece  back  in  the  hills.  A  piece  of  timber  which 
had  no  access  whatever  to  water  approximated  worthless- 
ness.  On  the  atlas,  the  largest  pieces  of  Crane  &  Keith 
timber  were  back  from  the  river — not  too  far  back,  but 
still  separated  from  it  by  narrow  strips  which,  for  the  most 
part,  were  farms.  Some  few  pieces  ran  down  to  the  river, 
but  it  was  apparent  that  Crane  &  Keith  were  looking  to 
the  future — buying  timber  when  it  was  at  its  lowest,  and 
preparing  to  hold  for  a  better  day.  They  had  bought 
strategically.  More  than  one  tributary  valley  was  in  their 
hands,  and,  when  the  day  ripened,  small  land  purchases 
would  connect  their  holdings,  bring  them  to  water,  and 
place  them  in  such  a  commanding  position  that  the  valley 
would  be  as  surely  theirs  as  if  they  owned  every  foot  of  it. 
Inasmuch  as  Scattergood  planned,  himself,  to  control  Cold- 
river  Valley,  the  prospect  was  not  pleasing  to  him. 

Scattergood  closed  the  atlas  and  put  on  his  shoes. 
"Una!  . .  ."  he  said.  "Calc'late  that  '11  keep  their  minds 


132  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

off'n  other  things  a  spell.  If  they  see  me  dickerin'  there, 
they  won't  figger  I'm  dickerin'  some  place  else." 

If  Scattergood  had  been  a  general,  history  would  have 
recorded  that  he  won  his  battles  by  making  feints  at  some 
vulnerable  point  in  the  enemy's  line,  and  then  struck  his 
major  blow  at  a  distance  where  he  was  not  suspected  to 
be  operating  at  all. 

It  chanced  that  Crane  &  Keith  were  cutting  timber 
from  the  Bottle — a  valley  so  named.  Their  rollways  were 
piled  high,  and  it  was  time  for  them  to  team  to  the  river. 
To  reach  the  river  they  must  pass  through  the  Bottleneck 
and  over  the  farm  belonging  to  Old  Man  Plumm.  There 
was  another  road  into  the  valley — a  public  road — but  it 
was  a  fifteen-mile  haul.  Old  Man  Plumm  was  a  non- 
assertive  person,  and  good-natured.  His  farm  was  a  ram- 
shackle, down-at-heels,  worthless  place,  off  which  he 
gleaned  the  meagerest  of  livelihoods,  so  that  he  had  not 
been  averse  to  permitting  Crane  &  Keith  to  traverse  his 
land  for  a  nominal  consideration.  It  was  cheaper  for  Crane 
&  Keith  than  purchase — and  so  the  matter  stood. 

Scattergood  went  across  the  road  to  Lawyer  Norton's 
office. 

"Goin'  up  Bottleneck  way  perty  soon?"  he  asked. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,  Scattergood." 

"Nice  drive.    Old  Man  Plumm's  got  a  farm  there." 

"I  know  that,  of  course." 

"Don't  figger  to  visit  him?" 

"Why — "  said  Norton,  beginning  to  see  that  Scatter- 
good  had  something  in  view — "I  could." 

"Wouldn't  try  to  buy  the  farm,  would  you?  " 

Norton  hesitated.     "  I— I  might." 

"Cash?" 

"Why,  I  suppose  so." 

"In  your  own  name,  eh?    Not  in  anybody  else's." 

"How  much  should  I  pay?" 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       133 

"Folks  always  pays  what  they  have  to — no  more — no 
less.  Immediate  possession.  Always  a  good  thing.  Got 
any  money?" 

"No." 

"Call  at  the  bank.  They'll  give  you  what's  needed. 
Ought  to  be  back  with  the  deed  by  night.  Fast  hoss?  " 

"Fast  enough." 

"G'-by,  Norton." 

That  night  Norton  returned  with  the  deed  and  with 
Old  Man  Plumm,  who  took  the  morning  stage  for  Con- 
necticut and  his  youngest  daughter. 

"Hear  folks  is  trespassin'  on  your  land,  Norton.  Name 
of  Crane  and  Keith.  Haulin*  logs  acrost.  No  contract 
with  you?  No  contract  with  Plumm?" 

"No  contract." 

"Hain't  got  a  right  to  do  it,  have  they?" 

"No." 

"If  I  owned  that  land  I'd  give  'em  notice,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "G'-by,  Norton.  Goin' to  Boston  to-day.  Set  tight, 
Norton.  G'-by." 

Twenty-four  hours  later  both  Crane  and  Keith  were  in 
Coldriver,  storming  up  to  Lawyer  Norton's  office.  Scatter- 
good  was  in  Boston  and  not  visible. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  blustered  Crane,  displaying  to 
Norton  the  notice  mailed  at  Scattergood's  direction. 

"What  it  says." 

"You  can't  stop  us  hauling  to  the  river." 

Norton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You  can  use  the  state 
road." 

"Fifteen  miles!  You  know  it's  impossible.  We've  got 
millions  of  feet  on  our  rollways.  It  '11  doze  and  spoil  if 
we  don't  get  it  out." 

"That's  your  lookout." 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Nothing." 


134  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"It's  some  kind  of  a  hold-up.  What  '11  you  take  for 
that  farm?" 

"Not  for  sale." 

"What  will  it  cost  us  to  haul  across  you?" 

"You  can't  haul  across.  Not  for  money,  marbles,  or 
chalk.  Use  the  road." 

That  was  the  best  Crane  &  Keith  could  get  out  of 
Norton,  though  they  besieged  him  for  a  week,  though  they 
consulted  lawyers,  though  they  made  threats,  and  though 
they  begged  and  promised.  Norton  was  a  stubborn  man. 

During  this  week  Scattergood  had  been  in  Boston.  His 
first  visit  had  been  to  Linderman,  president  of  the  Atlantic 
Pulp  and  Paper  Company. 

"Have  you  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Linderman?" 
asked  a  clerk. 

"Never  heard  of  me." 

"Then  I'm  afraid  you  can't  see  him.    He's  very  busy." 

"That  his  office?    That  door?" 

"Yes." 

"  He  in?    Right  in  there?  " 

"Yes." 

Scattergood  walked  calmly  toward  it.  The  slender  clerk 
interposed.  Scattergood  picked  him  up,  tucked  him  under 
a  huge  arm,  and  waddled  through  the  great  man's  door. 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Linderman?     Howdy?" 

Linderman  looked  up  and  frowned,  then  his  eyes 
twinkled. 

"Who  are  you?    What  have  you  there?" 

"Young  feller  I  found  outside.  'Fraid  of  steppin'  on 
him,  so  I  picked  him  up  to  save  him.  You  can  run  along 
now,  sonny,"  he  said  to  the  clerk.  "He  let  on  I  couldn't 
see  you,"  Scattergood  explained. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Scattergood  Baines." 

"Of  Coldriver?" 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       135 

Scattcrgood  was  surprised,  but  did  not  show  it.     "Yes." 

"Sit  down." 

"Thankee.  .  .  .  Come  to  do  a  mite  of  business  with 
you.  Int'rested  in  pulp,  hain't  you.  Quite  consid'able 
int'rested?" 

"Very  much." 

"Know  the  Higgins's  Bridge  Pulp  Company?" 

"Of  course.    Understand  they're  in  difficulties." 

"In  some,  and  goin'  to  be  in  more.  That's  why  I  come 
down." 

Thereupon  Scattergood  explained  in  detail  his  contract 
with  the  pulp  company,  and  his  theories  of  what  that 
company  was  planning  to  do  to  him.  "Double  barreled," 
he  said.  "Crane  and  Keith  owns  them  bonds.  Figger  on 
freezin'  out  the  stockholders  and  buyin'  'em  out  for  a 
song.  Figger  on  bustin'  me.  Next  we  hear  the  mill  '11  be 
in  receiver's  hands.  No  money.  Can't  pay  no  contracts. 
My  notes  '11  come  due,  and  I'm  done  for.  Simple.  Crane 
thought  it  up." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  me?  So  far  as  I  can  see,  you  are 
up  against  it.  You  can't  borrow  any  more,  and  your  notes 
won't  be  extended.  You're  done." 

"Hain't  started  yet — not  yet.  Figger  to  start  to-day. 
That's  why  I  come  to  see  you." 

"But  I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

"  Higgins's  Bridge  mill's  good,  hain't  it?  Logical  payin* 
proposition?  Money  to  be  made?" 

"Yes." 

"Like  to  own  it  cheap?" 

"Of  course." 

"Crane  and  Keith  is  gittin'  ready  for  a  killin'.  Own 
big  block  of  stock.  Paid  par.  Want  to  sell,  I  hear  .  .  . 
if  anybody's  fool  enough  to  buy.  Then  want  to  buy  back 
for  dum'  near  nothin'  when  receivership  comes.  Good 
scheme.  Money  in  it.  Crane  thought  it  up." 

10 


136          .        SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"What's  your  idea?" 

"Buy  all  they  got.  Option  the  rest.  Easy.  .  .  .  What 
happens  when  a  man  sells  somethin'  he  hain't  got?" 

"He  has  to  get  it  some  place." 

"If  he  can't  get  it,  what?" 

"Makes  it  expensive  for  him." 

"  Thought  so.  Figgered  that  way.  .  .  .  Nobody  to  in- 
terfere. Crane  and  Keith  left  orders  to  sell.  They  won't 
be  takin*  notice.  Got  'em  worried  some  place  else.  Mighty 
•worried."  Scattergood  recounted  the  story  of  Plumm's 
farm. 

Mr.  Linderman  scrutinized  Scattergood  intently  and 
nodded  his  head.  "And  you  want  me — " 

"Put  up  the  money.  Git  the  stock.  Lemme  handle  it. 
Gimme  twenty  per  cent.'' 

"In  stock?" 

"Calc'late  so." 

"Baines,"  said  Linderman,  "I'll  go  you.  Crane  and 
Keith  are  due  for  a  lesson." 

"Ready  now?" 

"Yes." 

"G'-by,  Mr.  Linderman.  Have  money  when  I  want  it. 
G'-by." 

Scattergood  had  a  list  of  stockholders  in  the  pulp  com- 
pany and  knew  they  were  worried.  He  spent  two  days 
in  interviewing  a  dozen  of  them,  and  found  little  difficulty 
optioning  their  stock  at  a  pleasant  figure.  They  imagined 
he  must  be  crazy,  and  he  did  nothing  to  destroy  the  belief. 

Then  he  called  at  the  offices  of  Crane  &  Keith. 

"Want  to  see  the  boss  man,"  he  said. 

"What  for?" 

"Hear  you  got  stock  for  sale.  Pulp  company.  Figger 
to  buy." 

Here  was  a  lamb  ready  for  the  slaughter.  Mr.  McCann, 
who  received  him,  could  see  the  delight  of  his  employers, 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       137 

and  his  own  profit,  if  he  should  succeed  in  taking  this  fat 
backwoodsman  into  camp. 

"You  want  to  buy  stock  in  the  pulp  company,  I 
understand?" 

"Yes." 

"How  much?" 

"How  much  you  got?" 

"Guess  we  can  sell  you  all  you  want." 

"Money-makin'  proposition,  hain't  it?" 

"Of  course." 

"But  you're  willin'  to  sell?    Kind  of  funny,  hain't  it?" 

"Oh  no.    We  have  so  many  enterprises." 

"Glad  you  want  to  sell.  I  figger  to  make  money  on  this 
stock.  Want  to  buy  a  lot  of  it." 

"About  how  many  shares?" 

"What  you  askin'?"  said  Scattergood. 

"Par." 

"  Shucks !    Give  you  thirty." 

There  was  haggling  and  bickering  until  a  price  of  sixty 
was  agreed  upon,  and  Mr.  McCann's  heart  expanded  with 
satisfaction. 

"Now,  how  many  shares?" 

"Want  control.  Want  fifty-one  per  cent, anyhow.  Got 
'em?" 

"Of  course."  This  was  not  the  fact,  but  Mr.  McCann 
was  not  addicted  to  unnecessary  facts.  He  knew  where 
he  could  get  the  rest  for  less  than  60.  There  would  be  an 
additional  profit  and  additional  credit  coming  to  him. 
In  cold  reality,  Crane  &  Keith  owned  some  40  per  cent  of 
the  stock. 

"Take  all  you'll  sell." 

"I  can  let  you  have  fifteen  hundred  shares — for  cash." 
This  was  an  even  60  per  cent,  but  McCann  knew  where 
he  could  get  the  other  20. 

"Come  to  the  bank.    Come  now.    Give  you  the  cash." 


138  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"I  can't  deliver  but  one  thousand  shares  to-day,  but  I 
can  give  you  the  other  five  hundred  to-morrow." 

"Suits  me.  Pay  for  'em  all  to-day.  Gimme  what  you 
got  and  a  receipt  for  the  rest.  Comin'  to  the  bank?" 

Mr.  McCann  put  on  his  coat  and  hat  and  accompanied 
Scattergood  to  the  bank,  where  he  received  a  certified 
check  for  the  full  amount,  gave  Scattergood  in  return  a 
thousand  shares  of  stock,  and  a  receipt  which  recited  that 
Scattergood  had  paid  for  five  hundred  shares  more,  to  be 
delivered  within  twenty-four  hours. 

Scattergood  went  to  see  Mr.  Linderman;  McCann  went 
out  to  round  up  five  hundred  shares  of  stock.  By  midnight 
he  was  a  worried  young  man.  The  stock  he  had  thought 
to  pick  up  so  readily  was  not  to  be  had.  Everybody 
seemed  to  have  disposed  of  it  and  nobody  seemed  to  know 
exactly  who  had  been  doing  the  buying,  for  the  options 
had  been  taken  in  a  number  of  names.  Next  morning 
McCann  sought  diligently  until  he  found  Scattergood. 

"Pve  been  a  bit  delayed  in  the  delivery  of  the  rest  of 
the  stock,"  he  told  Scattergood,  and  there  was  cold  moist- 
ure on  his  forehead  "Would  you  mind  waiting  until 
to-morrow?  " 

"Guess  I'll  have  to,"  said  Scattergood.  "G'-by.  Better 
be  movin'  around  spry.  I  want  to  git  back  home." 

That  night  McCann  wired  his  employers  to  get  back 
home  as  quickly  as  conveyances  would  carry  them.  They 
did  so,  and  hi  no  happy  mood,  for  Lawyer  Norton  had 
remained  immovable  in  his  position.  Young  McCann 
told  his  tale  hesitatingly. 

"Who  did  you  say  you  sold  to?"  demanded  Crane. 

"Fat  man  by  the  name  of  Baines." 

"Baines!    He's  busted.    Hasn't  a  cent," 

"Paid  cash." 

Crane  looked  at  Keith  and  Keith  looked  at  Crane. 
Just  then  the  telephone  rang.  It  was  Scattergood. 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       139 

"Want  to  speak  to  Mr.  Crane,"  he  said. 

"Hello!"  Crane  said,  gruffly.  "What's  this  about  your 
buying  pulp  company  stock?" 

"Bought  some.  Bought  a  little.  Called  up  to  see  why 
your  young  man  wasn't  deliverin'.  Want  to  git  home." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  money?" 

"Have  to  know  that?  Have  to  know  where  it  come 
from  before  you  kin  make  delivery?  Hain't  inquisitive, 
be  you?" 

Mr.  Crane  made  use  of  language.  "I  want  to  see  you 
— got  to  have  a  talk.  Come  right  down  here." 

"Jest  been  measurin',"  said  Scattergood,  "and  I  figger 
it's  a  mite  longer  from  here  to  there  than  it  is  from  there 
to  here.  If  you  want  to  see  me,  here  I  be." 

"Where?" 

Scattergood  gare  an  office  address  and  hung  up  the 
receiver. 

"They'll  be  here  in  a  minnit,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Linder- 
man,  and  he  was  not  exaggerating  greatly  as  to  the  time 
required  to  bring  the  gentlemen  to  him.  "Know  Mr. 
Linderman — Crane  and  Keith?  "  said  Scattergood.  "  Come 
in  and  set." 

"What  do  you  want  with  pulp  company  stock?"  Crane 
demanded. 

"Paper  the  kitchen.  Maybe,  if  I  kin  git  enough,  I'll 
paper  the  parlor.  Lack  five  hunderd  shares  for  the  parlor. 
Got  'em  with  you?" 

"No,  and  we're  not  going  to  get  them." 

"Urn! ...  Paid  for  'em,  didn't  I?    Got  a  receipt?" 

"What's  Linderman  doing  in  this?" 

Mr.  Linderman  leaned  forward  a  little.  "I'm  in  a 
legitimate  business  transaction — something  quite  foreign 
to  you  gentlemen's  notions  of  doing  business.  I  came  into 
it  to  make  a  profit,  but  mostly  to  teach  you  fellows  a  lesson 
in  decent  business  methods.  I  don't  like  you.  I  don't  like 


140  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

your  ways.  If  you  like  your  ways  you  must  expect  to  pay 
for  the  pleasure  you  get  out  of  them.  .  .  .  Mr.  Baines  is 
waiting  for  delivery  of  the  stock  he  bought." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  we  haven't  got  it?  " 

"I  do." 

"We  can't  deliver." 

"Yes,  you  can.  Go  out  in  the  open  market  and  buy. 
Now,  I  own  a  few  shares,  for  instance.  I  might  sell." 

The  faces  of  Messrs.  Crane  and  Keith  did  not  picture 
lively  enjoyment.  They  were  caught.  If  it  had  been 
Scattergood  alone  they  might  have  wriggled  out  of  it,  they 
thought,  for  they  had  scant  respect  for  his  sagacity,  but 
Linderman — well,  Linderman  was  not  to  be  trifled  with. 

"How  much?"  said  Crane. 

"You  need  five  hundred  shares.  Par  is  a  hundred,  is 
it  not?  I  will  part  with  mine  for  three  hundred.  First, 
last,  and  only  offer.  In  ten  minutes  the  price  goes  up  to 
three  fifty,  and  fifty  for  each  five  minutes  after  that." 

"It's  robbery  .  .  ."  Mr.  Crane  spluttered,  and  made 
uncouth  sounds  of  rage. 

"Now  you  know  how  the  other  fellow  has  been  feeling. 
Seven  minutes  left.  ..." 

Four  more  minutes  sped  before  the  surrender  came. 

"Certified  check,"  said  Mr.  Linderman.  "My  mes- 
senger will  go  to  the  bank  for  you." 

The  check  was  drawn  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars,  and  Crane  and  Keith  settled  back  sullenly. 

"You  can  retain  your  bonds.  I  believe  you  have  about 
a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  them.  Glad  to 
have  you  finance  the  mill  for  me.  It  will,  of  course,  go 
ahead  under  my  direction,"  said  Linderman.  "I  guess  I 
can  iron  out  the  difficulties  you  gentlemen  have  arranged 
for,  and  there  will  be  no  receivership.  That  will  relieve 
Mr.  Baines,  who  has  a  considerable  contract  with  the 
company." 


INSURANCE  THAT  DID  NOT  LAPSE       141 

Mr.  Crane  swore  softly. 

Scattergood  heaved  himself  to  his  feet.  "One  other 
leetle  matter,  Crane.  There's  the  Plumm  farm.  Kind 
of  exercised  about  that,  hain't  you?  Stayed  up  in  the 
country  a  week  to  look  after  it — while  I  was  dickerin' 
down  here.  .  . .  Like  to  buy  that  farm?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Calc'late  to  take  a  hint  from  Mr.  Linderman.  That 
farm's  mine,  and  you  can't  haul  a  log  acrost  it.  My  price 
is  fifteen  thousand.  Bought  it  for  two.  Price  goes  up 
hunderd  dollars  a  minute.  Cash  deal." 

That  surrender  was  more  prompt,  and  a  second  check 
was  sent  to  the  bank  to  be  certified. 

"G'-by,  gentlemen,"  said  Scattergood,  and  Messrs. 
Crane  and  Keith  took  their  departure  in  no  dignified  man- 
ner, but  with  rancor  in  their  hearts,  which  there  was  no 
method  of  salving. 

"Let's  take  stock,"  said  Scattergood.  "Like  to  know 
jest  how  we  come  out." 

"Let's  see.  We  bought  the  stock  at  an  average  of  sixty 
dollars  a  share.  That  makes  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars  in  expenses,  doesn't  it?  The  five  hundred  shares 
just  transferred  cost  thirty  thousand  dollars  and  we  sold 
them  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand.  Profit  on  that 
part  of  the  deal  is  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars. 
That  made  the  total  capital  stock  in  the  mill  worth  a 
quarter  of  a  million  of  anybody's  money;  cost  us  exactly 
thirty  thousand  dollars,  didn't  it?  Nice  deal.  .  .  .  And 
you  cleaned  up  an  extra  thirteen  thousand  on  your  side 
issue.  Not  bad." 

"  I  git  five  hunderd  shares  worth  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
don't  I?  Then  my  thirteen.  That's  sixty-three  thousand. 
Then  my  profit  on  twenty-five  thousand  cords  of  pulp- 
wood — which  is  goin'  to  be  paid,  I  jedge.  That  '11  be 
anyhow  another  twenty-five  thousand.  Calc'late  this 


142  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

deal's  about  fixed  me  so's  I  kin  go  ahead  with  a  number 
of  plans.  Much  obleeged,  Mr.  Linderman.  You  come  in 
handy." 

"So  did  you,  Mr.  Baines.    Mighty  handy." 

"Oh,  me.  I  had  to.  I  was  jest  takin'  out  reasonable 
insurance  ag'in'  loss.  ..." 

"  I  guess  you  have  a  permanent  insurance  policy  against 
loss,  inside  your  head." 

"Um!  .  .  ."  said  Scattergood,  slipping  his  feet  into  his 
shoes,  preparatory  to  leaving,  "difficulty  about  that  kind 
of  insurance  is  that  most  folks  lets  it  lapse  'long  about  the 
first  week  after  they're  born." 


CHAPTER  VII 

HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER 

'"THE  world  has  come  to  think  of  Scattergood  Baines  as 
A  an  astute  and  perhaps  tricky  business  man,  or  as  the 
political  despot  of  a  state.  Because  this  is  so  it  has  over- 
looked or  neglected  many  stories  about  the  man  much 
more  indicative  of  character,  and  more  fascinating  of  detail 
than  those  well-known  and  often-repeated  tales  of  his 
sagacity  in  trading  or  his  readiness  in  outwitting  a  politi- 
cal enemy.  To  one  who  makes  a  careful  study  of  Scatter- 
good's  life  with  a  view  to  writing  a  truthful  biography, 
he  inevitably  becomes  more  interesting  and  more  lovable 
when  seen  simply  as  a  neighbor,  a  fellow  townsman  of 
other  New  Englanders,  and  as  a  country  hardware  mer- 
chant. There  is  a  certain  charm  in  the  naivet<§  with  which 
he  was  wont  to  stick  his  pudgy  finger  in  the  affairs  of 
others  with  benignant  purpose;  and  it  is  not  easy  to 
believe  other  tales  of  hardness,  of  ruthless  beating  down 
of  opposition,  when  one  repeatedly  comes  upon  well- 
authenticated  instances  in  which  he  has  stood  quietly 
hidden  behind  the  scenes  to  pull  the  strings  and  to  make 
his  neighbors  bow  and  dance  and  posture  in  accordance 
with  some  schemes  which  he  has  formulated  for  their 
greater  happiness. 

Scattergood  loved  to  meddle.  Perhaps  that  is  his  domi- 
nant trait.  He  could  see  nothing  moving  in  the  community 
about  him  and  withhold  his  hand.  If  Old  Man  Bogle  set 
about  buying  a  wheelbarrow,  Scattergood  would  intervene 
in  the  transaction;  if  Pliny  Pickett  stopped  at  the  Widow 


144  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Ware's  gate  to  deliver  a  message,  Scattergood  saw  an  op- 
portunity to  unite  lonely  hearts — and  set  about  uniting 
them  forthwith;  if  little  Sam  Kettleman,  junior,  and  Wade 
Lumley's  boy,  Tom,  came  to  blows,  Scattergood  became 
peacemaker  or  referee,  as  the  needs  of  the  moment  seemed 
to  dictate.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  pie  in  Coldriver 
which  was  not  marked  by  his  thumb.  So  it  came  about 
that  when  he  became  convinced  that  Grandmother  Penny 
was  unhappy  because  of  various  restrictions  and  inhibi- 
tions placed  on  her  by  her  son,  the  dry-goods  merchant, 
and  by  her  daughter-in-law,  he  determined  to  intervene. 
Scattergood  was  partial  to  old  ladies,  and  this  partiality 
can  be  traced  to  his  earliest  days  in  Coldriver.  He  loved 
white  hair  and  wrinkled  cheeks  and  eyes  that  had  once 
been  youthful  and  glowing,  but  were  dulled  and  dimmed 
by  watching  the  long  procession  of  the  years. 

Now  he  sat  on  the  piazza,  of  his  hardware  store,  his  shoes 
on  the  planking  beside  him,  and  his  pudgy  toes  wriggling 
like  the  trained  fingers  of  an  eminent  pianist.  It  was  a 
knotty  problem.  An  ordinary  problem  Scattergood  could 
solve  with  shoes  on  feet,  but  let  the  matter  take  on  emi- 
nent difficulty  and  his  toes  must  be  given  freedom  and 
elbow  room,  as  one  might  say.  Later  in  life  his  wife, 
Mandy,  after  he  had  married  her,  tried  to  cure  him  of  this 
habit,  which  she  considered  vulgar,  but  at  this  point  she 
failed  signally. 

The  facts  about  Grandmother  Penny  were,  not  that  she 
was  consciously  ill  treated.  Her  bodily  comfort  was  seen 
to.  She  was  well  fed  and  reasonably  clothed,  and  had  a 
good  bed  in  which  to  sleep.  Where  she  was  sinned  against 
was  in  this:  that  her  family  looked  upon  her  white  hair 
and  her  wrinkles  and  arrived  at  the  erroneous  conclusion 
that  her  interest  in  life  was  gone — in  short,  that  she  was 
content  to  cumber  the  earth  and  to  wait  for  the  long  sleep. 
To  them  she  was  simply  one  who  tarries  and  is  content. 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         145 

Scattergood  looked  into  her  sharp,  old  eyes,  eyes  that 
were  capable  of  sudden  gleams  of  humor  or  flashes  of 
anger,  and  he  knew.  He  knew  that  death  seemed  as  dis- 
tant to  Grandmother  Penny  as  it  had  seemed  fifty  years 
ago.  He  knew  that  her  interest  in  life  was  as  keen,  her 
yearning  to  participate  in  the  affairs  of  life  as  strong,  as 
they  had  been  when  Grandfather  Penny — now  long  gone 
to  his  reward — had  driven  his  horse  over  the  hills  with  one 
hand  while  he  utilized  the  other  arm  for  more  important 
and  delightful  purposes. 

Scattergood  was  remembering  his  own  grandmother. 
He  had  known  her  as  no  other  living  soul  had  known  her, 
because  she  had  been  his  boyhood  intimate,  his  defender, 
always  his  advocate,  and  because  the  boyish  love  which 
he  had  given  her  had  made  his  eyes  keen  to  perceive.  His 
parents  had  fancied  Grandma  Baines  to  be  content  when 
she  was  in  constant  revolt.  They  had  supposed  that  life 
meant  nothing  more  to  her  now  than  to  sit  in  a  comfort- 
able rocker  and  to  knit  interminable  stockings  and  to  re- 
member past  years.  Scattergood  knew  that  the  present 
compelled  her  interest  and  that  the  future  thrilled  her. 
She  wanted  to  participate  in  life,  to  be  in  the  midst  of 
events — to  continue  to  live  so  long  as  the  power  of  move- 
ment and  of  perception  remained  to  her.  He  was  now 
able  to  see  that  the  old  lady  had  done  much  to  mold  his 
character,  and  as  he  recalled  incident  after  incident  his 
face  wore  a  softer,  more  melancholy  expression  than  Cold- 
river  was  wont  to  associate  with  it.  He  was  regretting 
that  in  his  thoughtless  youth  he  had  failed  to  accomplish 
more  to  make  gladder  his  grandmother's  few  remaining 
years. 

"I  calc'late,"  said  Scattergood  to  himself — but  aloud — 
"that  I'll  kind  of  substitute  Grandmother  Penny  for 
Grandma  Baines — pervidin'  Grandma  Baines  is  fixed  so's 
she  kin  see ;  more  'n  likely  she'll  understand  what  I'm  up 


146  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

to,  and  it  '11  tickle  her — I'm  goin'  to  up  and  borrow  me  a 
grandmother." 

He  wriggled  his  toes  and  considered.  What  thing  had 
his  grandmother  most  desired? 

"Independence  was  what  she  craved,"  he  said,  and 
considered  the  point.  "She  didn't  want  to  be  beholdin' 
to  folks.  She  wanted  to  be  fixed  so's  she  could  do  as 
she  pleased,  and  nobody  to  interfere.  I  calc'late  if 
Grandma  Baines  'd  'a'  been  left  alone  she'd  'a'  found 
her  another  husband  and  they'd  'a'  had  a  home  of 
their  own  with  all  the  fixin's.  It  wasn't  so  much  doin' 
that  grandma  wanted,  it  was  knowin'  she  could  do  if 
she  wanted  to." 

Scattergood's  specially  reinforced  chair  creaked  as  he 
strained  forward  to  pick  up  his  shoepacs  and  draw  them 
on.  It  required  no  small  exertion,  and  he  straightened  up, 
red  of  face  and  panting  a  trifle.  He  walked  up  the  street, 
crossed  the  bridge,  and  descended  to  the  little  room  under 
the  barber  shop  where  the  checker  or  cribbage  champion- 
ship of  the  state  was  decided  daily.  Two  ancient  citizens 
were  playing  checkers,  while  a  third  stood  over  them, 
watching  with  that  thrilled  concentration  with  which  the 
ordinary  person  might  watch  an  only  son  essaying  to  cross 
Niagara  Falls  on  a  tight  rope.  Scattergood  knew  better 
than  to  interrupt  the  game,  so  he  stood  by  until,  by  a 
breath-taking  triple  jump,  Old  Man  Bogle  sent  his  an- 
tagonist down  to  defeat.  Then,  and  only  then,  did  Scat- 
tergood speak  to  the  old  gentleman  who  had  been  the 
spectator. 

"Mornin',  Mr.  Spackles,"  he  said. 

"Mornin',  Scattergood.  See  that  last  jump  of  Bogle's? 
I  swanny  if  'twan't  about  as  clever  a  move  as  I  see  this 
year." 

"Mr.  Spackles,"  said  Scattergood,  "I  come  down  here 
to  find  out  could  I  ask  you  some  advice.  You  bein'  ex- 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         147 

perienced  like  you  be,  it  'peared  to  me  like  you  was  the 
one  man  that  could  help  me  out." 

"Um!  .  .  ."  grunted  Mr.  Spackles,  his  old  blue  eyes 
widening  with  the  distinction  of  the  moment.  "If  I  kin 
be  of  any  service  to  you,  I  calc'late  I'm  willin'.  'Tain't 
often  folks  comes  to  me  for  advice  any  more,  or  anythin' 
else,  for  that  matter.  Guess  they  figger  I'm  too  old  to 
'mount  to  anythin'." 

"Feel  like  takin'  a  mite  of  a  walk?" 

"Who?  Me?  I'm  skittisher 'n  a  colt  this  mornin'. 
Bet  I  kin  walk  twenty  mile  'fore  sundown." 

They  moved  toward  the  door,  but  there  Mr.  Spackles 
paused  to  look  back  grandly  upon  the  checker  players. 
"Sorry  I  can't  linger  to  watch  you,  boys,"  he  said,  loftily, 
"but  they's  important  matters  me  and  Scattergood  got 
to  discuss.  Seems  like  he's  feelin'  the  need  of  sound 
advice." 

When  they  were  gone  the  checker  players  scrutinized 
each  other,  and  then  with  one  accord  scrambled  to  the 
door  and  stared  out  after  Scattergood  and  Mr.  Spackles. 

"I  swanny!"  said  Old  Man  Bogle. 

"What  d'you  figger  Scattergood  wanted  of  that  ol' 
coot?"  demanded  Old  Man  Peterson. 

"Somethin'  deep,"  hazarded  Old  Man  Bogle.  "I 
always  did  hold  Spackles  was  a  brainy  cuss.  Hain't  he 
'most  as  good  a  checker  player  as  I  be?  What  gits  me, 
though,  is  how  Scattergood  come  to  pick  him  instid  of 
me." 

"Huh!  .  .  ."  grunted  Old  Man  Peterson,  and  they  re- 
sumed their  game. 

Scattergood  walked  along  in  silence  for  a  few  paces; 
then  he  regarded  Mr.  Spackles  appraisingly. 

"Mr.  Spackles,"  said  he,  deferentially,  "I  dunno  when 
I  come  acrost  a  man  that  holds  his  years  like  you  do. 
Mind  if  I  ask  you  jest  how  old  you  be?  " 


148  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Sixty-six  year/'  said  Spackles. 

"Wouldn't  never  'a'  b'lieved  it,"  marveled  Scattergood. 
"Wouldn't  'a'  set  you  down  for  a  day  more  'n  fifty-five  or 
six,  not  with  them  clear  eyes  and  them  ruddy  cheeks  and 
the  way  you  step  out." 

"Calc'late  to  be  nigh  as  good  as  I  ever  was,  Scattergood. 
J'ints  creak  some,  but  what  I  got  inside  my  head  it  don't 
never  creak  none  to  speak  of." 

"What  I  want  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Spackles,"  said  Scatter- 
good,  "is  if  you  calc'late  a  man  that's  got  to  be  past  sixty 
and  a  woman  that's  got  to  be  past  sixty  has  got  any  busi- 
ness hitchin'  up  and  marryin'  each  other." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Depends.  I'd  say  it  depends.  If  the  feller 
was  perserved  like  I  be,  and  the  woman  was  his  equal  in 
mind  and  body,  I'd  say  they  was  no  reason  ag'in'  it — 
'ceptin'  it  might  be  money." 

"Ever  think  of  marryin',  yourself,  Mr.  Spackles?" 

"Figgered  some.  Figgered  some.  But  knowed  they 
wasn't  no  use.  Son  and  daughter  wouldn't  hear  to  it. 
Couldn't  support  a  wife,  nohow.  Son  and  daughter  calc'- 
lates  to  be  mighty  kind  to  me,  Scattergood,  and  gives  me 
dum  near  all  I  kin  ask,  but  both  of  'em  says  I  got  to  the 
time  of  life  where  it  hain't  becomin'  in  'em  to  allow  me  to 
work." 

"How  much  kin  sich  a  couple  as  I  been  talkin'  about 
live  on?" 

"When  I  married,  forty-odd  year  ago,  I  was  gittin'  a 
dollar  a  day.  Me  'n'  Ma  we  done  fine  and  saved  money. 
Livin's  higher  now.  Calc'late  it  'u'd  take  nigh  a  dollar 
'n'  a  half  to  git  on  comfortable." 

"Figger  fifty  dollars  a  month  'u'd  do  it?  Think  that 
'u'd  be  enough?" 

"Scattergood,  you  listen  here  to  me.  I  hain't  never 
earned  as  much  as  fifty  dollar  a  month  reg'lar  in  my  whole 
life — and  I  got  consid'able  pleasure  out  of  livin',  too." 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         149 

They  had  walked  up  the  street  until  they  were  passing 
the  Penny  residence.  Grandmother  Penny  was  sitting  on 
the  porch,  knitting  as  usual.  She  looked  very  neat  and 
dainty  as  she  sat  there  in  her  white  lace  cap  and  her 
lavender  dress. 

"Fine-lookin'  old  lady,"  said  Scattergood. 

Mr.  Spackles  regarded  Grandmother  Penny  and  nodded 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur.  "Dum'd  if  she  hain't."  He 
lifted  his  hat  and  yelled  across  the  road:  "Mornin', 
Ellen." 

"Mornin',  James,"  replied  Grandmother  Penny,  and 
bobbed  her  head.  "Won't  you  folks  stop  and  set?  Sun's 
a-comin'  down  powerful  hot." 

"Don't  mind  if  we  do,"  said  Scattergood.  He  seated 
himself,  and  mopped  his  brow,  and  fanned  himself  with  his 
broad  straw  hat,  whose  flapping  brim  was  beginning  to 
ravel  about  the  edges.  Presently  he  stood  up. 

"Got  to  be  movin'  along,  Mis'  Penny.  Seems  like  I'm 
mighty  busy  off  and  on.  But  I  dunno  what  I'd  do  without 
Mr.  Spackles,  here,  to  advise  with  once  in  a  while.  He's 
jest  been  givin'  me  the  benefit  of  his  thinkin'  this  mornin'." 

With  inward  satisfaction  Scattergood  noticed  how  the 
old  lady  turned  a  pert,  sharp  look  upon  Mr.  Spackles, 
regarding  him  with  awakened  interest.  To  be  considered 
a  man  of  wisdom  by  Scattergood  Baines  was  a  distinction 
in  Coldriver  even  in  those  days,  and  for  a  man  actually 
to  be  consulted  and  asked  for  advice  by  the  ample  hard- 
ware merchant  was  to  lift  him  into  an  intellectual  class  to 
which  few  could  aspire. 

"I  hope  he  gin  you  good  advice,  Scattergood,"  said 
Grandmother  Penny. 

"  Allus  does.  If  ever  you're  lookin'  for  level-headedness, 
and  f'r  a  man  you  kin  depend  on,  jest  send  a  call  for  Mr. 
Spackles.  G'-by,  ma'am.  G'-by,  Mr.  Spackles,  and 
much  'bleeged  to  you." 


150  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Mr.  Spackles  was  a  little  bewildered,  for  he  had  not  the 
least  idea  upon  what  subject  he  had  advised  Scattergood, 
but  he  was  of  an  acuteness  not  to  pass  by  any  of  the  ad- 
vantage that  accrued  from  the  situation.  He  replied,  with 
lofty  kindness,  "Any  tune  you  want  for  to  consult  with  me, 
young  man,  jest  come  right  ahead." 

When  Scattergood  was  gone,  Mr.  Spackles  turned  to  the 
old  lady  and  waggled  his  head. 

"Ellen,  that  there's  a  mighty  promisin'  young  man. 
Tune's  comin'  when  he's  a-goin'  to  amount  to  suthin'. 
I'm  a-calc'latin'  on  guidin'  him  all  I  kin." 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  Grandmother  Penny,  almost 
breathless  at  this  new  importance  of  Mr.  Spackles's,  and 
Mr.  Spackles  basked  in  her  admiration,  and  added  to  it 
by  apochryphal  narratives  of  his  relations  with  Scattergood. 

For  a  week  Scattergood  let  matters  rest.  He  was  con- 
tent, for  more  than  once  he  saw  Mr.  Spackles's  faded 
overalls  and  ragged  hat  on  the  Penny  premises,  and 
watched  the  old  gentleman  in  animated  conversation  with 
Grandmother  Penny,  who  seemed  to  be  perter  and  brighter 
and  handsomer  than  she  had  ever  seemed  before. 

On  one  such  day  Scattergood  crossed  the  street  and 
entered  the  gate. 

"Howdy,  folks?"  he  said.  "Wonder  if  I  kin  speak  with 
Mr.  Spackles  without  interferin'?" 

"Certain  you  kin,"  said  Grandmother  Penny,  cordially. 

"Got  a  important  bankin'  matter  over  to  the  county 
seat,  Mr.  Spackles,  and  I  was  wonderin'  if  I  could  figger 
on  your  help?  " 

"To  be  sure  you  kin,  Scattergood.    To  be  sure." 

"Got  to  have  a  brainy  man  over  there  day  after  to- 
morrer.  B'jing!  that's  circus  day,  too.  Didn't  think  of 
that  till  this  minnit.  Wonder  if  you'd  drive  my  boss  and 
buggy  over  and  fix  up  a  deal  with  the  president  of  the 
bank?" 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         151 

"Glad  to  'bleege,"  said  the  flattered  Mr.  Spackles. 

"Circus  day,"  Scattergood  repeated.  "Been  to  a  circus 
lately,  Mis'  Penny?" 

"Hain't  seen  one  for  years." 

"No?  .  .  .  Mr.  Spackles,  what  be  you  thinkin'  of?  To 
be  sure.  Why,  you  kin  bundle  Mis'  Penny  into  the  buggy 
and  take  her  along  with  you!  Finish  the  business  in  no 
time,  bein'  spry  like  you  be,  and  then  you  and  her  kin 
take  in  the  circus  and  the  side  show,  and  stay  f'r  the  con- 
cert. How's  that?" 

Mr.  Spackles  was  suddenly  red  and  embarrassed,  but 
Grandmother  Penny  beamed. 

"Why,"  says  she,  "makes  me  feel  like  a  young  girl  ag'in. 
To  be  sure  I'll  go.  Daughter  '11  make  a  fuss,  but  I  jest 
don't  care  if  she  does.  I'm  a-goin'." 

"That's  the  way  to  talk,"  said  Scattergood.  "Mr. 
Spackles  '11  be  round  f'r  you  bright  and  early.  Now,  if 
you  kin  spare  him,  I  calc'late  we  got  to  talk  business." 

When  they  were  in  the  street  Mr.  Spackles  choked  and 
coughed,  and  said  with  some  vexation : 

"You  went  and  got  me  in  f'r  it  that  time." 

"How  so,  Mr.  Spackles?  Don't  you  want  to  take  Mis' 
Penny  to  the  circus?" 

"Course  I  do,  but  circuses  cost  money.  I  hain't  got 
more  'n  a  quarter  to  my  name." 

"H'm!  .  .  .  Didn't  calc'late  I  was  askin'  you  to  take  a 
day  of  your  time  for  nothin',  did  you?  F'r  a  trip  like  this 
here,  with  a  lot  hangin'  on  to  it,  I'd  say  ten  dollars  was 
about  the  fittin'  pay.  What  say?" 

Mr.  Spackles's  beaming  face  was  answer  enough. 

Grandmother  Penny  and  Mr.  Spackles  went  to  the  cir- 
cus in  a  more  or  less  surreptitious  manner.  It  was  a  won- 
derful day,  a  successful  day,  such  a  day  as  neither  of  them 
had  expected  ever  to  see  again,  and  when  they  drove 

home  through  the  moonlight,  across  the  mountains,  their 
11 


152  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

souls  were  no  longer  the  souls  of  threescore  and  ten,  but 
of  twoscore  and  one. 

"Great  day,  wa'n't  it,  Ellen?"  said  Mr.  Spackles, 
softly. 

"Don't  call  to  mind  nothin'  approachin'  it,  James." 

"You  be  powerful  good  comp'ny,  Ellen." 

"So  be  you,  James." 

"I  calc'late  to  come  and  set  with  you,  often,"  said 
James,  diffidently. 

"Whenever  the  notion  strikes  you,  James,"  replied 
Grandmother  Penny,  and  she  blushed  for  the  first  time  in 
a  score  of  years. 

Two  days  later  Pliny  Pickett  stopped  to  speak  to  Scat- 
tergood  in  front  of  the  hardware  store.  Pliny  supple- 
mented and  amplified  the  weekly  newspaper,  and  so  was 
very  useful  to  Baines. 

"Hear  tell  01'  Man  Spackles  is  sparkin'  Grandmother 
Penny,"  Pliny  said,  with  a  grin.  "Don't  figger  nothin'  '11 
come  of  it,  though.  Their  childern  won't  allow  it." 

"Won't  allow  it,  eh?  What's  the  reason?  What  busi- 
ness is  't  of  theirn?  " 

"Have  to  support  'em.  The  ol'  folks  hain't  got  no 
money.  Spackles  's  got  two-three  hunderd  laid  by  for  to 
bury  him,  and  so's  Grandmother  Penny.  Seems  like  ol' 
folks  allus  lays  by  for  the  funeral,  but  that's  every  red 
cent  they  got.  I  hear  tell  Mis'  Penny's  son  has  forbid 
Spackles's  comin'  around  the  house." 

This  proved  to  be  the  fact,  as  Scattergood  learned  from 
no  less  an  authority  than  Mr.  Spackles  himself . 

"Felt  like  strikin'  him  right  there  V  then,"  said  Mr. 
Spackles,  heatedly,  "but  I  seen  'twouldn't  do  to  abuse 
one  of  Ellen's  childern." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Was  you  and  Grandmother  Penny  figgerin' 
on  hitchin'  up?"  Scattergood  asked. 

"I  put  the  question,"  said  Mr.  Spackles,  with  the  air  of 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         153 

a  youth  of  twenty,  "and  Ellen  up  and  allowed  she'd  have 
me.  But  I  guess  'twon't  never  come  off  now.  Seems  like 
I'll  never  be  content  ag'in,  and  Ellen's  that  downcast  I 
shouldn't  be  a  mite  s'prised  if  she  jest  give  up  and  passed 
away." 

"Difficulty's  money,  hain't  it?    Largely  financial,  eh?" 

"Ya-as." 

"Folks  has  got  rich  before.  Maybe  some  thin'  like 
that  '11  happen  to  you." 

"Have  to  happen  mighty  suddin,  Scattergood,  if  it 
aims  to  do  any  good  in  this  world." 

"I've  knowed  men  to  invest  a  couple  hunderd  dollars 
into  some  venture  and  come  out  at  t'other  end  with  thou- 
sands. You  got  couple  hunderd,  hain't  you?  " 

"Ellen  and  me  both  has — saved  up  to  bury  us." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Git  buried,  anyhow.  Law  compels  it.  Dog- 
gone little  pleasure  spendin'  money  f'r  your  own  coffin. 
More  sensible  to  git  some  good  out  of  it.  ...  I'm  goin' 
away  to  the  city  f'r  a  week  or  sich  a  matter.  When  I 
come  back  we'll  kind  of  thrash  things  out  and  see  what's 
to  be  done.  Meantime,  don't  you  and  Grandmother 
Penny  up  and  elope." 

In  this  manner  Scattergood  planted  the  get-rich-quick 
idea  in  the  head  of  Mr.  Spackles,  who  communicated  it  to 
Grandmother  Penny  in  the  course  of  a  clandestine  meeting. 
The  old  folks  discussed  it,  and  hope  made  it  seem  more 
and  more  plausible  to  them.  Realizing  the  fewness  of 
the  days  remaining  to  them,  they  were  anxious  to  utilize 
every  moment.  It  was  Grandmother  Penny  who  was  the 
daring  spirit.  She  was  for  drawing  their  money  out  of  the 
bank  that  very  day  and  investing  it  somehow,  somewhere, 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  it  come  back  to  them  a  hundredfold. 

Scattergood  had  neglected  to  take  into  consideration 
Grandmother  Penny's  adventuresome  spirit;  he  had  also 
neglected  to  avail  himself  of  the  information  that  a  certain 


154  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Mr.  Baxter,  registered  from  Boston,  was  at  the  hotel,  and 
that  his  business  was  selling  shares  of  stock  in  a  mine 
which  did  not  exist  to  gullible  folks  who  wanted  to  become 
wealthy  without  spending  any  labor  in  the  process.  He 
did  a  thriving  business.  It  was  Coldriver's  first  experience 
with  this  particular  method  of  extracting  money  from  the 
public,  and  it  came  to  the  front  handsomely.  Mr.  Spackles 
got  wind  of  the  opportunity  and  told  it  to  Grandmother 
Penny.  She  took  charge  of  affairs,  compelled  her  fiance" 
to  go  with  her  to  the  bank,  where  they  withdrew  their 
savings,  and  then  sought  for  Mr.  Baxter,  who,  in  return 
for  a  bulk  sum  of  some  five  hundred  dollars,  sold  them 
enough  stock  in  the  mine  to  paper  the  parlor.  Also,  he 
promised  them  enormous  returns  in  an  exceedingly  brief 
space  of  time.  Their  profit  on  the  transaction  would,  he 
assured  them,  be  not  less  than  ten  thousand  dollars,  and 
might  mount  to  double  that  sum.  They  departed  in  a 
state  of  extreme  elation,  and  but  for  Mr.  Spackles's  con- 
servatism Grandmother  Penny  would  have  eloped  with 
him  then  and  there. 

"I'd  like  to,  Ellen.  I'd  like  to,  mighty  well,  but  'tain't 
safe.  Le's  git  the  money  fust.  The  minnit  the  money 
comes  in,  off  we  mog  to  the  parson.  But  'tain't  safe  yit. 
Jest  hold  your  bosses. " 

When  Scattergood  returned  and  was  visible  again  on 
the  piazza  of  his  hardware  store,  it  was  not  long  before 
the  village  financiers  came  to  him  boasting  of  their  achieve- 
ment. He,  Scattergood,  was  not  the  only  man  in  town 
with  the  ability  to  make  money.  No,  indeed,  and  for  proof 
of  it  here  were  the  stock  certificates,  purchased  from  a 
deluded  young  man  for  a  few  cents  a  share,  when  common 
sense  told  you  they  were  worth  many,  many  dollars. 
Scattergood  listened  to  two  or  three  without  a  word. 
Finally  he  asked: 

"How  many  folks  went  into  this  here  thing?" 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         155 

"Sev'ral.  Sev'ral.  Near's  I  kin  figger,  folks  here 
bought  nigh  five  thousand  dollars'  wuth  of  stock  off  n 
Baxter.  Must  'a'  been  fifty  or  sixty  went  into  the  deal." 

"Dum  fools,"  said  Scattergood,  with  sudden  wrath. 
"Has  it  got  so's  I  don't  dast  to  leave  town  without  you 
folks  messin'  things  up?  Can't  I  leave  overnight  and  find 
things  safe  in  the  mornin'?  . .  .  You  hain't  got  the  sense 
Gawd  give  field  mice — the  whole  kit  and  b'ilin'  of  you. 
Serves  you  dum  well  right,  tryin'  to  git  somethin'  f'r 
nothin'.  Now  git  away  fr'm  here.  Don't  pester  me.  .  .  . 
You've  been  swindled,  that's  what,  and  it  serves  you  dog- 
gone well  right.  Now  git." 

It  was  one  of  the  few  times  that  Coldriver  saw  Scatter- 
good  in  a  rage.  The  rage  convinced  them.  Scattergood 
said  they  were  swindled  and  he  was  in  a  rage.  Therefore 
he  must  be  right.  The  news  spread,  and  knots  of  citizens 
with  lowered  heads  and  anxious  eyes  gathered  on  street 
corners  and  whispered  and  nodded  toward  Scattergood, 
who  sat  heavily  on  his  piazza,,  speaking  to  nobody.  It 
was  Grandmother  Penny  who  dared  accost  him.  She 
crept  up  to  his  place  and  said,  tremulously: 

"Be  you  sure,  Scattergood,  about  that  feller  bein'  a 
swindler?  " 

Scattergood  looked  down  at  her  fiercely.  Then  his  eyes 
softened  and  he  leaned  forward  and  scrutinized  her  face. 

"Did  you  git  into  this  mess,  too,  Grandmother  Penny?" 

"Both  me  'n'  James,"  she  said.  "You  let  on  that  folks 
got  rich  quick  by  investin'.  Me  'n'  James  was  powerful 
anxious  to  git  money  so's — so's  we  could  git  married  on 
it.  So  we  drawed  out  our  money  and — and  invested  it." 

"Come  here,  Grandmother,"  said  Scattergood,  and  she 
stood  just  before  his  chair,  her  head  coming  very  little 
higher  than  his  own  as  he  sat  there,  big  and  ominous. 
"So  the  skunk  took  your  money,  too.  I  hain't  carin'  a 
whoop  for  them  others.  They  got  what  was  comin'  to  'em, 


156  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

and  I  didn't  calc'late  to  do  nothin'.  But  you!  By 
crimminy!  .  .  .  Wa-al,  Grandmother,  you  go  off  home  and 
knit.  I'll  look  into  things.  It's  on  your  account,  and  not 
on  theirs."  He  shook  his  head  fiercely  toward  the  town. 
"But  I  calc'late  I'll  have  to  git  theirn  back,  too. . .  .  And, 
Grandmother — you  and  James  kin  rest  easy.  Hain't 
sayin'  no  more.  Jest  wait,  and  don't  worry,  and  don't 
say  nothin'  to  nobody.  .  .  .  G'-by,  Grandmother  Penny. 
G'-by." 

That  evening  Scattergood  drove  out  of  Coldriver  in  his 
rickety  buggy.  Nobody  had  dared  to  speak  to  him,  but, 
nevertheless,  he  carried  in  his  pocket  a  list  of  the  town's 
investors  in  mining  stock,  together  with  the  amounts  of 
their  investments.  He  was  not  seen  again  for  several  days. 

Two  days  later  Scattergood  appeared  in  the  lobby  of 
the  Mansion  House,  in  the  county  seat.  He  scrutinized 
the  register,  and  found,  to  his  satisfaction,  that  a  Mr.  Bow- 
man of  Boston  was  occupying  room  106.  Mr.  Bowman 
had  signed  the  hotel  register  in  Coldriver  as  Mr.  Baxter, 
also  of  Boston.  Scattergood  seated  himself  in  a  chair 
and  lighted  one  of  the  cigars  which  made  his  presence  so 
undesirable  in  an  inclosed  space.  He  appeared  to  be 
taking  a  nap. 

Fifteen  minutes  after  Scattergood  began  to  nod,  Sam 
Bangs,  a  politician  with  some  strength  in  the  rural  dis- 
tricts, came  down  the  stairs  in  company  with  a  young 
man  of  prepossessing  appearance,  and  clothing  which  did 
not  strike  the  beholder  as  either  too  gaudy  or  too  stylish. 
Indeed  the  young  man  impressed  the  world  as  being  a 
sober,  conservative  person  in  whose  judgment  it  would 
be  well  to  place  confidence. 

When  Bangs  saw  Scattergood  he  stopped  and  whis- 
pered a  moment  to  his  companion,  who  nodded.  They 
approached  Scattergood,  and  Bangs  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder. 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER          157 

"Mr.  Baines,"  he  said,  "I  want  you  should  meet  my 
friend  Mr.  Bowman.  Mr.  Bowman's  a  broker.  Been 
buyin'  some  stocks  off'n  him — or  calc'late  to.  I  knowed 
you  done  consid'able  investing  so  I  took  the  liberty." 

Scattergood  looked  drowsily  at  the  young  man.  "Set," 
he  said.  "Set  and  have  a  cigar." 

The  young  Mr.  Bowman  accepted  the  cigar,  but,  after 
a  glance  at  it,  thrust  it  into  his  mouth  unlighted.  The 
conversation  began  with  national  politics,  swung  to  crops, 
and  veered  finally  to  the  subject  of  investments.  Mr. 
Bowman,  backed  in  his  statements  by  Mr.  Bangs,  spoke 
to  Scattergood  of  a  certain  mine  whose  stock  could  be 
had  for  a  song,  but  whose  riches  in  mineral,  about  to  be 
reached  by  a  certain  shaft  or  drift  or  tunnel,  were  fabulous. 
Scattergood  was  interested.  An  appointment  was  made 
for  further  discussion. 

The  appointment  was  kept  that  evening,  in  the  same 
lobby,  and  Mr.  Bowman,  while  finding  more  than  ordinary 
difficulty  in  convincing  this  fat  country  merchant,  did 
eventually  succeed  in  bringing  him  to  a  point  of  en- 
thusiasm. 

"Looks  good,"  said  Scattergood.  "Calc'late  a  feller 
could  make  a  killin'.  I'm  a-goin'  into  it  hair,  hide,  and 
hoofs.  Figger  me  f 'r  not  less  'n  five  thousand  dollars'  wuth 
of  it.  Ought  to  make  me  fifty  thousand  if  it  makes  a 
cent." 

"You're  conservative,  Mr.  Baines,  conservative." 

"Always  calc'lated  to  be,  Mr.  Bowman."  He  looked 
up  as  a  middle-aged  man  with  a  drooping  mustache  ap- 
proached. "Howdy,  John?  Still  workin'  f'r  the  express 
company,  be  you?  " 

"Calc'late  to,  Mr.  Baines.  Got  charge  of  the  local 
office.  'Tain't  all  pleasure,  neither.  In  a  sight  of  trouble 
this  minnit." 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  Scattergood. 


158  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Stand  to  lose  my  job,"  said  John,  sadly.  "Dunno 
where  I'll  find  me  another." 

"What  you  been  doin',  eh?    What  got  you  in  bad?" 

"One  of  them  dummed  gold  shipments  from  the  state 
bank.  Hadn't  ought  to  speak  about  it,  'cause  the  com- 
p'ny's  bein'  awful  secret.  Hain't  lettin'  it  out."  He 
glanced  apprehensively  at  Mr.  Bowman. 

"Needn't  to  be  afraid  of  Mr.  Bowman,  John.  What's 
the  story?" 

"Bank  shippin'  bullion.  Three  chunks  of  it.  Wuth 
fifty-odd  thousand  dollars.  I  know,  'cause  that's  the  com- 
p'ny's  liability  wrote  in  black  and  white.  .  .  .  Been  stole," 
he  said,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"Where?" 

"Out  of  my  office,  this  mornin'.  Not  a  trace.  Jest  up 
and  disappeared.  Detectives  and  all  can't  run  on  to  no 
clue.  Might  as  well  'a'  melted  and  run  through  a  crack. 
Jest  gone,  and  that's  all  anybody  kin  find." 

"Mighty  sorry  to  hear  it,  John.  Hope  you  wasn't  keer- 
less,  and  don't  figger  you  was.  Guess  you  won't  be  blamed 
when  the  facts  comes  out." 

"If  they  ever  do,"  said  John.  "G'  night,  Mr.  Baines. 
I'm  mighty  oneasy  in  my  mind." 

Scattergood  turned  the  subject  back  at  once  to  mining 
stocks. 

"You  set  me  down  for  five  thousand  dollars.  Don't  let 
nobody  else  have  it.  Got  jest  that  sum  comin'  due  to- 
morrer.  You  and  me  '11  drive  over  to  git  it,  and  you  fetch 
them  stock  certificates  along.  Got  'em  in  that  little 
satchel  you're  always  carryin'?" 

"No,"  smiled  Mr.  Bowman.  "That's  my  purse.  I 
take  no  chances  on  robbers,  like  your  express  agent  spoke 
of.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  have  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  in  that  bag — and  I  intend  to  keep  it  there." 

"Do  tell!"  exclaimed  Scattergood.    "Wa-al,  you  know 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER          159 

your  business.  Now,  then,  if  you  want  to  drive  over  six 
mile  with  me  to-morrer,  we'll  git  us  that  money  and  I'll 
take  the  stock." 

"Good,"  said  Mr.  Bowman.  "An  early  start.  Can  I 
take  a  train  from  there?  I'll  be  through  here,  I  think." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Scattergood.  "Mighty  funny  thing 
about  that  gold,  now  waVt  it?  Three  bars.  Wuth  fifty 
thousand!  Mighty  slick  work — to  spirit  it  off  and  nobody 
never  find  a  trace." 

"The  criminal  classes,"  said  Mr.  Bowman,  "have  pro- 
duced some  remarkable  intellects.  Good  night,  Mr. 
Baines." 

"See  you  early  in  the  mornin',"  replied  Scattergood. 

After  a  breakfast  which  Mr.  Bowman  watched  Scatter- 
good  dispose  of  with  admiration  and  astonishment,  the 
pair  entered  the  old  buggy  and  started  across  the  hills. 
In  addition  to  his  small  bag  Mr.  Bowman  brought  a  large 
suitcase  containing  his  apparel,  so  it  was  apparent  he  was 
leaving  the  county  seat  for  good.  The  morning  came  off 
hot  and  humid.  Scattergood  kept  his  eyes  open  for  a 
spring,  but  it  was  not  until  they  had  driven  some  miles 
that  an  opportunity  to  find  water  appeared. 

"Calc'late  we  kin  git  a  drink  there,"  said  Scattergood, 
pointing  to  a  little  shanty  in  a  clearing  by  the  roadside. 
He  stopped  his  horse,  and  they  alighted  and  knocked. 
There  was  no  reply.  Scattergood  pushed  open  the  door 
and  then  stepped  back  suddenly,  for  within  were  three 
individuals  of  disreputable  appearance,  and  one  of  them 
regarded  Scattergood  over  the  leveled  barrels  of  a  shotgun. 

"Come  right  in  and  set,"  invited  this  individual,  and 
Scattergood,  followed  by  Mr.  Bowman,  entered.  On  a 
table  of  pine  wood,  unconcealed,  lay  three  enormous  bars 
of  gold. 

"Um! ..."  said  Scattergood,  faintly,  and  leaned  against 
the  wall. 


160  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"You  would  come  rammin'  in,"  said  the  gentleman 
with  the  shotgun.  "Now  I  calc'late  you  got  to  stay." 

Scattergood  grinned  amiably.  "Vallyble  loaves  of 
bread  you  got  there,"  he  said. 

"Gold,"  said  the  man,  succinctly. 

"Hain't  no  mines  around  here,  be  there?" 

"We  hain't  sayin'.  But  that  there  gold  come  from  a 
mine,  all  right — sometime." 

"Calc'late  you  been  robbin'  a  train  or  something"  said 
Scattergood,  mildly.  "  Now  don't  git  het  up.  'Tain't  none 
of  my  business.  Doin'  robbin'  for  a  reg'lar  livin'?"  he 
asked,  innocently. 

"Hain't  never  done  none  before — "  began  one  of  the 
men,  but  his  companion  directed  him  to  "shut  up  and 
stay  shut." 

"No  harm  talkin'  's  I  kin  see.  We  got  these  fellers  here 
and  here  they  stay  till  we  git  clean  off.  Kind  of  like  to  tell 
somebody  the  joke." 

"I'm  doggone  int'rested,"  said  Scattergood. 

The  rough  individual  with  the  gun  laughed  loudly. 
"May's  well  tell  you,"  he  said,  raucously.  "Me  and  the 
boys  was  in  town  yestiddy,  calc'latin'  to  ship  some  ferns 
by  express.  Went  into  the  office.  Agent  wa'n't  there. 
Safe  was.  Open.  Ya-as,  wide  open.  We  seen  three  gold 
chunks  inside,  and  nobody  around  watchin'.  Looked  full 
better  'n  ferns,  so  we  jest  took  a  notion  to  carry  'em  out 

to  the  wagin  and  drive  off Now  we  got  it,  I'm  dummed 

if  I  know  what  to  do  with  it.  Hear  tell  it's  wuth  fifty 
thousand  dollars." 

Mr.  Bowman  spoke.  "You'll  find  it  mighty  hard  to 
dispose  of." 

"Don't  need  to  worry  you." 

"Suppose  you  could  sell  it  for  a  fair  price,  cash,  and  get 
away  with  the  money?  " 

"That's  our  aim." 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER          161 

"Mr.  Baines,"  said  Bowman,  "there's  money  in  this  if 
you  aren't  too  particular." 

"Hain't  p'tic'lar  a-tall.    How  you  mean?" 

"What  would  you  say  to  buying  this  gold — at  a  reason- 
able price?  I  can  dispose  of  it — through  channels  I  am 
acquainted  with.  You  can  put  in  the  money  we  were 
going  for,  and  I'll  put  in  some  more.  Ought  to  show  a 
handsome  profit." 

"Might  nigh  double  my  money,  maybe,  eh?  Figger 
that?  Gimme  twict  as  much  to  buy  stock  with." 

"Yes,  indeed." 

"Let's  dicker." 

"What  will  you  men  take  to  walk  away  and  leave  that 
gold?" 

"Forty  thousand." 

"Fiddlesticks.  I'll  give  you  ten — and  you're  clear  of 
the  whole  mess." 

There  was  a  wrangle.  For  half  an  hour  the  dicker  went 
on,  and  finally  a  price  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars  was 
agreed  upon.  Mr.  Bowman  was  to  pay  over  the  money, 
and  Scattergood  was  to  contribute  his  five  thousand  dol- 
lars as  soon  as  they  got  it.  For  one  third  of  the  profits. 

The  money  was  paid  over;  the  three  robbers  disap- 
peared with  alacrity,  leaving  Scattergood  and  Bowman 
with  the  stolen  gold. 

"We  can  take  it  along  in  the  buggy,  covered  with  ferns," 
said  Bowman.  "Nobody  '11  suspect  you" 

"Be  safe  as  a  church,"  said  Scattergood,  boldly.  "Lug 
her  out." 

So  they  carried  the  gold  to  the  buggy,  covered  it  snugly 
with  ferns,  and  drove  toward  the  next  town,  Scattergood 
talking  excitedly  of  profits  and  of  how  much  mining  stock 
he  could  purchase  with  the  money  received,  and  of  ample 
wealth  from  the  transaction.  Mr.  Bowman  smiled  with 
the  faint,  quiet  smile  of  one  whose  soul  is  at  peace.  Just 


162  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

before  they  got  to  town  Scattergood  suggested  that  they 
stop  to  make  sure  the  gold  was  completely  concealed. 

They  drove  into  the  woods  a  few  rods  and  uncovered 
the  treasure.  Scattergood  gloated  over  it. 

"I've  heard  tell  you  kin  cut  real  gold  like  cheese,"  he 
said,  and  opened  his  jackknife.  With  it  he  hacked  off  a 
shaving  and  held  it  up  to  the  light. 

"Is  all  gold  this  here  way?"  he  asked.  "Don't  look 
to  me  to  be  the  same  color  all  the  way  through.  Looks 
like  silver  or  suthin'  inside." 

Mr.  Bowman  snatched  the  shaving,  scrutinized  it,  and 
uttered  language  in  a  loud  voice.  He  snatched  Scatter- 
good's  knife  and  tested  all  three  ingots. 

"  Lead ! "  he  said,  savagely.  "  Nothing  but  lead !  We've 
been  swindled!" 

"You  mean  it  hain't  gold  a-tall?" 

"It's  lead,  I  tell  you." 

"I  vum!  .  .  .  Them  fellers  stole  lead!  And  they  got  off 
with  all  your  money.  Gosh!  I'm  glad  I  didn't  have  none 
along."  His  eyes  were  mirthless  and  his  face  vacuous. 
"Beats  all.  Never  heard  tell  of  nothin'  sim'lar." 

They  got  into  the  buggy  and  drove  silently  into  town. 
Mr.  Bowman  tried  to  recover  his  spirits,  but  they  were 
at  low  ebb.  He  did  manage  to  hint  that  Scattergood 
should  stand  his  share  of  the  loss,  but  in  his  heart  he  knew 
that  to  be  vain.  Still,  he  could  get  that  five  thousand 
dollars  for  the  mining  stock.  It  would  be  five  thousand 
dollars. 

"Anyhow,"  he  said,  "you're  fortunate.  You  still  can 
buy  the  stock  and  make  your  pile." 

"This  here  deal,"  said  Scattergood,  "has  kind  of  made 
me  figger.  'Tain't  safe  to  buy  gold  chunks  till  you  know 
they're  gold.  Likewise  'tain't  safe  to  buy  mine  stock  till 
you  know  there's  a  mine.  Calc'late  I'll  do  a  mite  of  in- 
vestigatin'  'fore  I  pungle  over  that  five  thousand.  .  .  . 


HE  BORROWS  A  GRANDMOTHER         163 

Where  kin  I  leave  you,  Mr.  Bowman?  I'm  calc'latin'  to 
drive  home  from  here.  Maybe  I'll  see  you  later.  But  I 
got  to  investigate." 

Mr.  Bowman  made  himself  unpleasant  for  a  brief  time, 
but  Scattergood  was  vacuously  stubborn.  Presently  he 
drove  away,  leaving  Mr.  Bowman  on  the  veranda  of  the 
hotel,  scowling  and  uttering  words  of  strength  and  mean- 
ing. Mr.  Bowman  was  very  unhappy. 

Scattergood  drove  as  rapidly  as  his  horse  could  travel, 
arriving  at  Coldriver  just  after  the  supper  hour.  He  went 
directly  to  his  store,  which  had  been  left  in  charge  of  Mr. 
Spackles.  Three  men  were  waiting  there  for  him.  They 
handed  him  a  leather  bag  and  he  satisfied  himself  that  it 
contained  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 

"Much  'bleeged,  boys,"  he  said.  "Do  as  much  f'r  you, 
some  day.  G'-by." 

"Mr.  Spackles,"  he  said,  "kin  you  fetch  Grandmother 
Penny  over  here — right  now?" 

"Calc'late  I  kin,"  said  Mr.  Spackles,  and  he  proved 
himself  able  to  keep  his  word. 

"Grandmother  Penny,"  said  Scattergood,  when  she 
arrived,  "you  and  Mr.  Spackles  up  and  made  a  invest- 
ment. I  been  a-lookin'  after  that  investment  f'r  you — 
and  f'r  these  other  dum  fools  in  town.  Best  I  could  do 
f'r  them  others  was  to  git  their  money  back — every  cent 
of  it.  But  I  took  keer  to  do  a  mite  more  f'r  you  and  Mr. 
Spackles.  I  got  your  five  hunderd  f'r  you — and  then  I 
seen  a  way  to  git  ten  thousand  more.  Here  she  be.  Count 

it I  don't  guess  there's  any  way  this  here  money  could 

be  put  to  better  use." 

"F'r  us?    Ten  thousand— " 

"I'll  handle  it  f'r  you.  Give  you  int'rest  of  six  hunderd 
a  year.  You  kin  marry  like  you  planned,  and  if  your 
childern  objects  you  kin  tell  'em  to  go  to  blazes.  .  .  .  You'll 
want  a  place  to  live.  Wa-al,  I  got  twenty  acre  back  of 


164  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

town  and  a  leetle  house  and  furniture.  Took  it  on  a  deal. 
You  kin  move  in  and  work  it  on  shares.  Ought  to  be  able 
to  live  blamed  well." 

Grandmother  Penny  was  crying. 

"You  done  all  this  f'r  us,  f'r  James  and  me!  There 
hain't  no  reason  f'r  it.  'Tain't  b'lievable.  .  .  .  There  hain't 
no  way  to  say  thankee." 

"I  hain't  wantin'  you  to  say  thankee,  Grandmother 
Penny.  Jest  mog  along  and  marry  this  old  coot,  and  git 
what  joy  you  kin  out  of  livin'." 

Mr.  Spackles  was  inquisitive  in  addition  to  being 
grateful. 

"What  I  want  to  know,"  he  demanded,  "is  how  you 
managed  it?" 

"Oh,"  said  Scattergood,  "jest  made  use  of  the  sayin' 
about  curin'  with  the  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  you.  Fig- 
gered  a  swindler  wouldn't  never  suspect  nobody  of  swin- 
dlin'  him  with  one  of  his  own  tricks.  This  here  Mr. 
Baxter,  or  Mr.  Bowman,  or  whatever  his  name  is,  used 
to  make  a  livin'  sellin'  gold  bricks.  When  I  found  that 
there  fact  out  I  jest  calc'lated  he  was  ripe  to  do  a  mite 
of  gold-brick  buyin'  himself.  .  .  .  Which  he  done." 

"Scattergood,"  said  Grandmother  Penny,  "I'm  a-goin* 
to  kiss  you." 

Scattergood  presented  his  cheek,  and  Grandmother 
Penny  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  pressed  her 
lips  to  his  weather-beaten  face.  He  smiled,  but  as  if  he 
were  smiling  at  somebody  not  present.  When  they  had 
gone  their  way  to  find  marriage  license  and  parson  he 
went  out  on  to  his  piazza  and  looked  up  at  the  moonlit 
sky. 

"Grandma  Baines,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "if  you 
kin  see  down  from  where  you  be,  I  hope  you  hain't  missin' 
that  I  done  this  f'r  you.  I  was  pertendin'  all  the  time 
that  you  was  Grandmother  Penny.  .  ." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HE   DIPS   IN   HIS    SPOON 

SCATTERGOOD  BAINES  sat  on  the  piazza  of  his 
hardware  store  and  twiddled  his  bare  toes  reflectively. 
He  was  not  thinking  of  to-day  nor  of  to-morrow,  but  of 
days  a  score  of  years  distant  and  of  plans  not  to  come  to 
maturity  for  twenty  years.  That  was  Scattergood's  way. 
From  his  history,  as  it  is  to  be  gathered  from  the  ancient 
gossips  of  Coldriver,  one  is  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
few  of  his  acts  were  performed  with  reference  to  the  im- 
mediate time.  If  he  set  on  foot  some  scheme,  one  learns 
to  study  it  and  to  endeavor  to  see  to  what  outcome  it 
may  lead  ten  years  after  its  inception.  He  looked  always 
to  the  future,  and  more  than  once  one  may  see  where  he 
has  forgone  immediate  profit  in  order  to  derive  that 
profit  a  hundredfold  a  generation  later. 

So,  as  Scattergood  twiddled  his  reflective  toes,  he  looked 
far  ahead  into  the  future  of  Coldriver  Valley;  he  saw  that 
valley  as  his  own,  developed  as  few  mountain  valleys 
are  ever  developed.  Its  stage  line,  already  his  property, 
was  replaced  by  a  railroad.  The  waters  of  its  river  and 
tributaries  were  dammed  to  give  a  cheap  and  constant 
power  which  should  be  connected  in  some  way  to  this 
electricity  of  which  he  heard  so  much  and  about  which 
he  always  desired  to  hear  more.  He  saw  factories  spring- 
ing up.  In  short,  he  saw  his  valley  as  the  center  of  the 
state's  commercial  life,  and  himself  as  the  center  of  the 
valley. 

Scattergood  was  well  aware  that  there  always  will  exist 


166  SCATTERGOOD  BAIXES 

those  who  will  clog  the  road  of  progress  and  attempt  to 
stem  any  tide  arising  for  the  public  good — unless  they 
can  see  for  themselves  an  individual  benefit.  He  knew 
that  it  is  not  uncommon  for  those  whose  business  is  the 
common  good — such  individuals  as  legislators  and  gov- 
ernors and  judges — to  assume  some  such  attitude,  and  he 
knew  that  it  was  regarded  as  expensive  to  win  their  favor. 
He  did  not  grow  especially  angry  at  this  condition,  but 
accepted  it  as  a  condition  and  studied  to  see  what  he  could 
do  about  it — for  he  knew  he  must  do  something  about  it. 

He  must  take  it  into  consideration,  because  one  does 
not  build  railroads  without  legislative  sanction,  nor  does 
one  dam  streams  nor  carry  out  wide  commercial  programs. 
The  consent  of  the  people  must  be  had,  and  the  people 
had  handed  over  their  consent  in  trust  to  their  elected 
representatives.  Scattergood  saw  at  once  that  it  was 
preferable  to  be  one  from  whom  governors  and  legislators 
and  judges  asked  favors  and  looked  to  for  guidance,  than 
to  be  one  to  come  a  suppliant  before  those  personages, 
and  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  clearly  he  reached  his  deter- 
mination. 

"Calc'late,"  said  he,  to  the  shoes  which  he  held  in  his 
hand,  "that  I  got  to  git  up  and  stir  around  in  politics 
some." 

From  that  moment  Scattergood  scrutinized  the  bowl  of 
politics  to  discover  when  and  where  he  could  dip  in  his 
spoon. 

The  opportunity  to  dip,  it  soon  became  apparent,  would 
be  at  the  time  of  the  fall  town  meetings,  for  there  was  a 
fight  on  in  the  state  and  its  preliminary  rumblings  were 
already  making  themselves  audible.  Hitherto  the  state 
had  been  held  securely  by  certain  political  gentlemen, 
who  in  turn  had  been  held  securely  by  a  certain  other 
and  greater  political  gentleman — Lafe  Siggins.  Other  non- 
political  gentlemen  who  represented  money  and  business 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  167 

had  seen,  as  Scattergood  did,  the  necessity  for  becoming 
political,  and  had  chosen  their  moment  to  endeavor  to 
take  the  state  away  from  Messrs.  Siggins  &  Co.  and  to 
hold  it  thereafter  for  their  own  benefit  and  behoof.  They 
were,  therefore,  laying  their  plans  to  win  the  legislature 
by  winning  the  town  meetings  of  the  fall,  and  to  win  they 
had  decided  to  make  their  fight  upon  the  total  prohibition 
of  liquor  in  the  state.  It  was  not  that  they  cared  ethically 
whether  drinks  of  a  spirituous  nature  were  dispensed  or 
not,  but  it  was  the  best  available  issue.  If  it  did  not 
work  out  to  their  satisfaction  they  could  reverse  them- 
selves when  they  came  into  power. 

So  they  made  an  issue  of  prohibition,  and  planned 
astutely  to  go  to  the  town  meetings  on  that  platform,  for 
a  majority  of  the  towns  voted  local  option  with  regularity. 
The  new  powers  would  first  sweep  the  town  meetings  for 
local  option,  and  in  the  wave  of  enthusiasm  put  into  office 
at  the  same  time  legislators  chosen  by  themselves. 

Scattergood  saw  the  trend  of  affairs  early  and  gave 
them  his  earnest  consideration.  That  his  ancient  ill 
wishers,  Messrs.  Crane  &  Keith,  were  identified  with  the 
new  and  rising  power  may  not  have  been  the  least  of  the 
considerations  which  determined  him  to  dip  in  his  spoon 
on  the  side  of  Siggins  and  the  old  order.  But  there  was 
one  obstacle.  Scattergood  desired  local  option,  for  he 
was  now  the  employer  of  many  men,  both  in  the  woods 
and  in  other  enterprises,  and  he  knew  well  that  labor  and 
hard  liquor  are  disturbing  bedfellows.  .  .  .  He  considered 
and  reached  the  conclusion  that  for  this  one  tune,  perhaps, 
he  could  both  have  his  cake  and  eat  it. 

He  could  have  his  cake  and  still  eat  it  only  by  the  re- 
sults of  an  election  which  should  not  be  a  victory  for  the 
new  powers  nor  for  the  old,  but  for  another  minor  power 
differing  from  each.  In  other  words,  Scattergood  saw 
the  wisdom  of  defeating  both  the  contenders  locally,  and 

12 


168  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

then  of  throwing  in  with  Siggins  as  to  the  fight  for  state 
control.  .  .  .  But  of  this  determination  he  notified  not  a 
soul.  Judging  from  his  actions,  it  may  be  safely  said  that 
he  was  at  some  pains  to  conceal  the  fact  that  he  was 
interested  in  politics  in  any  manner  or  degree  whatever. 

But  Scattergood  was  a  chatty  body,  and  Coldriver 
would  have  been  surprised  if  he  did  not  talk  politics,  as 
did  all  its  other  male  inhabitants.  It  came  about  that 
more  politics  than  hardware  was  discussed  on  Scatter- 
good's  piazza,  but  to  the  casual  listener  it  seemed  only 
purposeless  discussion.  But  Scattergood  was  a  master  of 
purposeless  discussion.  His  methods  were  his  own  and 
worthy  of  notice. 

Marvin  Towne  and  Old  Man  Bogle  sauntered  past 
and  paused  to  mention  the  weather. 

"Goin'  to  be  lots  of  politics  this  year,"  said  Scattergood. 
"Jest  got  in  a  line  of  gardenin'  tools,  Bogle." 

"Town's  goin'  to  be  het  up  for  certain,"  said  Mr.  Bogle, 
waggling  his  ancient  head.  "  Calc'late  to  have  all  the  tools 
I  need." 

"Who's  figgerin'  on  runnin'  for  legislature,  Marvin?" 

"Guess  Will  Pratt's  puttin'  up  Pazzy  Cox  ag'in." 
Pratt  was  postmaster  and  local  party  leader. 

"Anybody  calc'latin'  to  run  ag'in'  him,  Marvin?  Any 
opposition  appearin'?" 

"Goin'  to  be  a  fight,  Scattergood.  Big  doin's  in  the 
state.  Tryin'  to  upset  Lafe  Siggins.  Uh-huh!  Wuth 
watchin',  says  I." 

"  I  hear  tell  the  lawless  elements  is  puttin'  up  Jim  Allen 
on  a  whisky  platform,"  said  Old  Man  Bogle,  acidly. 

"Them  all  the  candidates,  Bogle?    Hain't  no  others?" 

"Nary." 

"Coldriver's  got  to  take  whatever  candidates  them 
outsiders  chooses,  eh?  Coldriver  hain't  got  no  say  who'll 
represent  her  in  the  legislature?" 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  169 

"Don't  'pear  so.  All  done  by  party  machinery,  Scat- 
tergood.  We  got  nothin'  to  do  but  pick  between  parties." 

"Looks  so.  ...  Looks  that  way,"  said  Scattergood. 
"Too  bad  there  hain't  one  more  party  that  hain't  con- 
trolled so  folks  could  git  a  chance.  .  .  .  What's  this  here 
Prohibition  party  I  been  hearin'  some  of  in  other  parts?" 

"'S  fur's  I  know  it's  all  right,  only  it  hain't  got  no 
votes,  and  votes  is  necessary  in  politics." 

"Licker  enters  into  this  here  campaign,  don't  it?" 

"Backbone  of  it." 

"Seems  like  these  Prohibition  fellers  ought  to  take  a 
hand.  Any  of  'em  in  Coldriver?" 

"Don't  seem  like  I  ever  heard  speak  of  one." 

"Could  be,  couldn't  there?    'Tain't  impossible?" 

"S'pose  one  could  be  got  up — if  anybody  was  in- 
fested." 

"Need  a  strong  candidate,  wouldn't  they?  Have  to 
have  a  man  to  head  it  up  that  would  command  respect?" 

"Wouldn't  git  fur  with  it.    Parties  too  well  organized." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Lemme  show  you  a  new  hand  seeder  I  jest 
got  in.  Labor  savin'.  Calc'late  it's  a  bargain." 

"Don't  hold  with  them  newfangled  notions,  Scatter- 
good." 

"S'prised  at  you,  Marvin.  Folks  expects  progress  of 
you.  Look  up  to  you,  kind  of.  Take  their  idees  from 
you." 

"I  dunno,"  said  Marvin,  visibly  pleased,  but  depreca- 
tory. 

"Careful,  cautious — but  most  gen'ally  right,  that's 
what  I  hear  folks  say.  Quite  a  bit  of  talk  goin'  around 
about  you.  Politics.  Uh-huh!  Heard  several  say  it  was 
a  pity  Marvin  Towne  couldn't  be  got  to  go  to  the  legisla- 
ture. Heard  that,  hain't  you,  Bogle?" 

"Don't  call  it  to  mind,  but  maybe  I  have.  Maybe  I 
have.  Anyhow,  I  calc'late  it's  true." 


170  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"  There  you  be,  Marvin.  Now  it  behooves  a  man  that's 
looked  up  to  for  to  keep  in  the  lead.  Ought  to  look  into 
that  seeder,  Marvin.  Folks  '11  say:  'Marvin  Towne's  got 
him  one  of  them  seeders.  Darn  progressive  farmer.  Gits 
him  all  the  modern  improvements.'" 

"Suthin'  in  what  you  say,  Scattergood.  Calc'late  I 
might  examine  into  that  tool  one  of  these  days." 

"Hain't  much  choice  between  Pazzy  Cox  and  Jim  Allen, 
eh?  Hain't  neither  of  'em  desirable  lawmakers,  eh?  That 
what  you  was  sayin'?" 

"Them's  my  idees,"  said  Marvin. 

"Too  bad  we're  forced  to  take  one  or  t'other.  Now 
if  they  was  some  way  for  you  to  step  in  and  run." 

"Hain't." 

"Sh'u'd  think  you'd  look  over  them  Prohibitionists. 
Draw  all  the  best  citizens  after  you.  Set  a  example  to 
the  state.  .  .  .  Step  back  and  look  at  that  there  seeder, 
Marvin." 

Marvin  looked  at  the  seeder  judicially.  "Calc'late  to 
guarantee  it,  Scattergood?  " 

"Put  it  in  writin',"  said  Scattergood. 

"Calc'late  I'll  have  to  have  it.  Considerin'  everything, 
guess  I'll  take  it  along." 

"Knowed  you  would,  Marvin.  Sich  men  as  you  is  to 
be  depended  on.  Folks  realizes  it." 

"If  I  thought  they  was  a  call  for  me  to  go  to  the 
legislature — " 

"Call?"  said  Scattergood.  "Marvin,  I'm  tellin'  you 
it's  dum  near  a  shout." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  Where  could  I  git  to  find  out  about  this 
here  Prohibitionist  party?" 

Presently  Marvin  Towne  and  Old  Man  Bogle  went 
along.  Scattergood  gazed  after  them  speculatively,  and 
as  he  gazed  his  hands  went  automatically  to  his  shoes, 
which  he  removed  to  give  play  to  his  reflective  toes. 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  171 

"Um!  .  .  ."  he  grunted.  "If  nothin'  more  comes  of  it  I 
made  a  profit  of  three  dollar  forty  on  that  seeder." 
.  Pliny  Pickett,  stage  driver,  was  a  frequent  caller  at 
Scattergood's  store,  first  as  an  employee,  but  more  im- 
portantly as  a  dependable  representative  who  could 
carry  out  an  order  without  asking  questions,  especially 
when  no  definite  order  had  been  given. 

"Pliny,"  said  Scattergood,  "know  Marvin  Towne, 
don't  you?  Brought  up  with  him,  wasn't  you?" 

"Know  him  like  the  palm  of  my  hand." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Strange  he  hain't  never  been  talked  up  for 
the  legislature,  Pliny.  Strange  there  hain't  talk  about 
him  on  the  stagecoach.  Ever  hear  any?" 

"Some,  lately." 

"Could  hear  more,  couldn't  you?  If  you  listened.  .  .  . 
Set  around  the  post  office,  evenin's,  don't  you?" 

"Some." 

"Discussin'  topics?  Ever  discuss  this  Prohibition 
party?" 

"  I  could,"  said  Pliny. 

"Seems  like  a  shame  folks  here  can't  run  the  man  they 
want  for  office.  Strike  you  that  way?" 

"Certain  sure.    Calc'late  they  want  Marvin  bad?" 

"They  could,"  said  Scattergood.    "G'-by,  Pliny." 

Ten  days  later  a  third  party  made  its  appearance  in 
the  politics  of  Coldriver,  and  Marvin  Towne  was  an- 
nounced as  its  candidate  for  the  legislature.  It  seemed  a 
spontaneous  excrescence,  but,  nevertheless,  it  caused  a 
visit  from  that  great  man  and  citizen,  Lafe  Siggins,  as 
well  as  a  call  from  Mr.  Crane,  of  Crane  &  Keith.  Both 
astute  gentlemen  viewed  the  situation,  and  their  alarm 
subsided.  Indeed,  both  perceived  where  it  could  be  turned 
to  advantage.  A  canvass  of  the  situation  showed  them 
that  the  new  Prohibitionists,  though  they  talked  loud  and 
long,  were  made  up  mainly  of  the  discontented  and  of  a 


172  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

few  men  always  ready  to  join  any  novel  movement,  and 
promised  at  best  to  poll  not  to  exceed  forty  votes  of  Cold- 
river's  registered  three  hundred  and  eighty.  It  really 
simplified  the  situation  to  Lafe  and  to  Crane,  for  it  re- 
moved from  circulation  forty  doubtful  votes  and  left  the 
real  battle  to  be  fought  between  the  regulars.  Wherefore 
Messrs.  Siggins  and  Crane  departed  from  the  village  in 
satisfied  mood. 

Scattergood  sat  on  his  piazza  as  usual,  the  morning 
after  the  portentous  visit,  and  called  a  greeting  to  Wade 
Lumley,  dry-goods  merchant,  as  that  prominent  citizen 
passed  to  his  place  of  business. 

"How's  the  geldin'  this  mornin',  Wade?"  he  asked. 

"Feelin'  his  oats.  Got  to  take  him  out  on  the  road 
this  evenin'.  Time  to  begin  shapin'  him  up  for  the 
county  fair." 

"Three-year-old,  hain't  he?" 

"Best  in  the  state." 

"Always  figgered  that  till  I  heard  Ren  Green  talkin'. 
Ren  calc'lates  he's  got  a  three-year-old  that  '11  make 
any  other  hoss  in  these  parts  look  like  it  was  built  of 
pine." 

Wade  was  eager  in  a  moment.  "Willin'  to  back  them 
statements  with  money,  is  he?" 

"Said  somethin'  about  havin'  a  hunderd  dollars  that 
wasn't  workin'  otherwise,  seems  as  though,"  said  Scat- 
tergood. "Jest  half  a  mile  from  Petty  bone's  house  to 
the  dam,"  he  continued,  with  apparent  irrelevance. 
"Level  road." 

"And  my  geldin'  kin  travel  that  same  road  spryer 
'n  Green's  hoss — for  a  hunderd  dollars,"  said  Wade, 
eagerly. 

"Dunno,"  said  Scattergood.  "Hoss  races  is  uncertain. 
G'-by,  Wade.  See  you  later." 

A  similar  conversation  with  Ren  Green  during  the  day 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  173 

resulted  in  a  meeting  between  the  horsemen,  an  argument, 
loud  words,  and  a  heated  offer  to  wager  money,  which 
was  accepted  with  like  heat. 

"From  Pettybone's  to  the  dam — half  a  mile,"  shouted 
Wade. 

"Suits  me  to  a  T,"  bellowed  Ren;  "and  now  you  kin 
step  across  with  me  and  deposit  that  there  hunderd  dollars 
ag'in'  mine  with  Briggs  of  the  hotel." 

So,  terms  and  conditions  having  been  arranged,  the  bets 
were  made,  and  the  money  locked  in  the  hotel  safe.  News 
of  the  matter  swept  through  Coldriver,  and  for  the  eve- 
ning politics  were  forgotten  and  excitement  ran  high.  Next 
day  it  arose  to  a  higher  pitch,  for  Town-marshal  Pease 
had  forbidden  the  race  to  be  run  through  the  public 
streets  of  Coldriver,  viewing  it  as  a  menace  to  life,  limb, 
and  the  public  peace.  Scattergood  had  conversed  sagely 
with  Pease  on  the  duties  of  a  town  marshal. 

Marvin  Towne  had  formed  the  habit  of  stopping  to 
chat  with  Scattergood  daily,  totally  unconscious  that  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  he  had  been  ordered  by  Scattergood 
to  make  daily  reports  to  him.  He  seemed  depressed  as  he 
leaned  against  a  post  of  the  piazza. 

"Lookin'  peaked,  Marvin.  Hain't  all  goin'  well?  Git- 
tin'  uneasy?" 

"It's  this  dum  hoss  race,"  said  Marvin.  "Everybody's 
bet  up  over  it  so's  nobody  '11  talk  politics.  How's  a  feller 
goin'  to  win  votes  if  he  can't  git  nobody  to  talk  to  him, 
that's  what  I  want  to  know?  Seems  like  there  hain't 
nothin'  in  the  world  but  Wade  Lumley's  geldin'  and  that 
hoss  of  Green's." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Sort  of  distressing  hain't  it?  Know  Kent 
Pilkinton  perty  well,  Marvin?" 

"  Brother-in-law." 

"Holds  public  office,  don't  he?" 

"Chairman  of  the  Board  of  Selectmen's  what  he  is." 


174  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Good  man  fur  't,"  said  Scattergood,  waggling  his 
head.  "Calc'late  to  be  on  good  terms  with  him,  Marvin? 
Perty  good  terms?" 

"Good  enough  so's  he  kin  ask  me  to  loan  him  two 
thousand  dollars  he's  needin'  a'mighty  bad." 

"Give  it  to  him,  Marvin?" 

"Huh!"  said  Marvin,  eloquently. 

"If  I  was  to  indorse  his  note,  think  you  could  see  your 
way  clear?" 

"Certain  sure." 

"See  him  ag'in,  won't  you?    Perty  soon?" 

"Yes." 

"What  d'you  calc'late  to  tell  him?" 

"What  you  said?" 

"Didn't  say  nothin',  did  I?  Jest  asked  a  question.  It 
was  you  said  somethin',  Marvin,  wa'n't  it?  Said  you'd 
lend  on  my  indorsement." 

"That  what  you  want  me  to  tell  him?" 

"Didn't  say  so,  did  I?  Jest  asked  a  question.  G'-by, 
Marvin.  Lemme  know  what  he  says." 

It  was  unnecessary  for  Marvin  to  report,  for  early  next 
morning  Kent  Pilkinton,  owner  of  a  hill  farm  on  the  out- 
skirts of  a  village — a  farm  on  which  he  succeeded  in  rais- 
ing the  most  ample  crop  of  whiskers  in  Coldriver,  and 
little  else,  came  diffidently  up  to  Scattergood  as  he  sat  in 
front  of  his  hardware  store. 

"Mornin',  Kent,"  said  Seattergood.  "Come  to  look  at 
mowin'  machines,  I  calc'late." 

"Might  look  at  one,"  said  Kent. 

"Need  one,  don't  you?" 

"Bad." 

"Need  quite  a  mess  of  implements,  don't  you?" 

"Could  do  with  'em  if  I  had  'em.  .  .  .  'Tain't  what  I 
come  fur,  though,  Scattergood.  Been  tryin'  to  borrow 
money  off  of  my  brother-in-law,  but  he  don't  calc'late  to 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  175 

lend  without  I  git  an  indorser,  and  seems  like  he  sets  store 
by  your  name  on  a  note." 

"Does,  eh?  Any  reason  I  should  indorse  for  you? 
Know  any  reason?" 

"Nary,"  said  Kent,  and  started  to  move  off. 

"Hold  your  hosses.     What  you  need  the  money  for?" 

"Pay  off  a  thousand-dollar  mortgage  and  another 
thousand  to  git  the  farm  in  shape  to  run." 

"Calc'late  you  kin  run  it,  then?" 

"If  I  git  the  tools." 

"I  figger  maybe  you  kin.  Like  to  see  you  git  ahead. 
Where  d'y°u  calc'late  to  buy  them  implements?" 

"Off  of  you." 

"I  got  'em  to  sell.    When  you  got  to  have  the  money? " 

"Two  weeks  to-morrow." 

This  was  the  day  after  the  town  meeting. 

"Come  in  and  pick  out  your  implements,"  said  Scatter- 
good. 

"Meanin'  you'll  indorse?" 

"Meanin'  that — pervidin'  nothin'  unforeseen  comes  up 
between  now  and  then." 

Half  a  day  was  spent  selecting  tools  and  implements 
for  the  farm,  and  though  Pilkinton  did  not  know  it,  it 
was  Scattergood's  selection  that  was  purchased.  Scatter- 
good  knew  what  was  necessary  and  what  would  be  eco- 
nomical, and  that  was  what  Pilkinton  got,  and  nothing 
more.  It  netted  Scattergood  a  pleasant  profit,  and  Kent 
got  the  full  equivalent  of  his  money. 

"Preside  at  town  meetin',  don't  you?" 

"My  duty,  "said  Kent. 

"Calc'late  to  do  your  duty?" 

"Always  done  so." 

"Comin'  to  see  you  do  it,"  said  Scattergood.  He 
paused.  "Next  mornin'  we'll  fix  up  the  note.  G'-by, 
Kent." 


176  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

During  the  fourteen  days  that  followed  Coldriver  was 
happy;  between  politics  and  the  forbidden  horse  race,  it 
had  such  food  for  conversation  that  even  cribbage  under 
the  barber  shop  languished,  and  one  had  to  walk  into  the 
road  to  pass  the  crowd  at  the  post  office  of  evenings.  As 
to  the  horse  race,  it  resembled  a  boil.  Daily  it  grew  more 
painful.  Like  a  boil,  such  a  horse  race  as  this  must  burst 
some  day,  and  it  was  reaching  the  acute  stage.  But 
Town-marshal  Pease  was  vigilant  and  spoke  sternly  of 
the  majesty  of  the  law. 

As  to  the  election,  it  grew  even  more  dubious.  Scatter- 
good  privately  took  stock  of  the  situation.  Marvin  Towne 
and  the  Prohibitionists  might  count  now  on  a  vote  or  two 
more  than  fifty.  Postmaster  Pratt  appeared  certain  of 
better  than  a  hundred,  and  so  did  the  opposing  party. 
One  or  the  other  of  them  was  certain  to  win  as  matters 
lay,  and  Marvin's  case  seemed  hopeless.  Marvin  conceived 
it  so  and  was  for  withdrawing,  but  Scattergood  saw  to  it 
that  he  did  not  withdraw. 

"Keep  your  votes  together,"  he  said.  "Stiffen  'em." 
it  was  his  first  direct  order.  "Fetch  'em  to  the  meetin' 
and  be  sure  of  every  one." 

On  town-meeting  day  Coldriver  filled  with  rigs  from 
the  surrounding  township.  Every  rail  and  post  was  uti- 
lized for  hitching,  and  Town-marshal  Pease,  his  star  dis- 
played, patrolled  the  town  to  avert  disorder.  He  patrolled 
until  the  meeting  went  into  session,  and  then  he  took  his 
chair  just  under  the  platform,  and,  as  was  his  duty, 
guarded  the  sacredness  of  the  ballet. 

Scattergood  was  present,  sitting  in  a  corner  under  the 
overhang  of  the  balcony,  watching,  but  discouraging  con- 
versation. If  one  had  studied  his  face  during  the  early 
proceedings  he  would  have  read  nothing  except  a  genial 
interest,  which  was  the  thing  Coldriver  expected  to  see 
on  Scattergood's  face.  Town  questions  were  decided, 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  177 

matters  of  sidewalks,  of  road  building,  of  schools,  and  in 
every  instance  Marvin  Towne's  fifty-two  voted  as  a  unit, 
swinging  from  one  side  to  the  other  as  their  peculiar 
interest  dictated.  On  all  minor  questions  it  was  Marvin 
Towne's  Prohibitionists  who  decided,  because  they  car- 
ried the  volume  of  votes  necessary  to  control.  But  when 
it  came  to  major  affairs,  such  as  the  election  of  officers, 
there  would  be  a  different  story.  Then  they  could  join 
with  neither  party,  but  must  stand  alone  as  a  unit,  far 
outvoted. 

So  the  regulars  disregarded  them,  or  if  they  gave  them 
any  attention  it  was  jocular.  Even  Marvin  viewed  the 
day  as  lost,  but  Scattergood  held  him  to  the  mark  with  a 
word  passed  now  and  then.  It  came  three  o'clock  of  the 
afternoon  before  nominations  for  the  high  office  of  legis- 
lator were  the  order  of  proceeding.  Jim  Allen  and  Pazzy 
Cox  were  placed  before  the  meeting  as  candidates  amid 
the  stimulated  applause  of  their  adherents.  Marvin 
Towne's  name  was  received  with  laughter  and  such  jeers 
as  the  New  England  breed  of  farmer  and  townsman  has 
rendered  his  own,  and  at  which  he  is  a  genius  surpassed 
by  none. 

Chairman  Pilkinton  arose,  as  befitted  the  moment. 

"Feller  townsmen,  we  will  now  proceed  to  cast  our 
ballots  for  the  office  of  representative  in  the  legislature. 
The  polls  is  open,  and  overlooked  by  Town-marshal  Pease. 
The  ballotin'  will  begin." 

And  then.  .  .  . 

At  that  instant  there  was  an  uproar  on  the  stairs.  Pliny 
Pickett  burst  into  the  room,  his  hat  missing,  his  eyes 
gleaming  with  excitement. 

"It's  a-comin'  off.  They've  stole  a  march.  Hoss  race! 
.  .  .  Hoss  race!  .  .  .  Ren  Green  and  Wade  Lumley's  got 
their  bosses  up  to  Deacon  Pettybone's  and  they're  goin' 
to  race  to  the  dam.  Everybody  out.  Hoss  race!  .  .  . 


178  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Hoss  race! .  .  ."  He  turned  and  ran  frantically  down  the 
stairs,  and  on  his  heels  followed  the  voters  of  Cold  river. 
But  one  or  two  remained;  men  too  rheumatic  to  chance 
rapid  movement,  or  those  whose  positions  compelled  them 
to  consider  as  non-existent  such  a  matter  as  a  race  between 
quadrupeds. 

But  no  sooner  had  the  hah1  cleared  than  men  began  to 
return,  in  couples,  in  squads,  and  to  take  their  seats. 
Scattergood  was  standing  up  now,  counting.  Fifty-two 
he  counted,  and  remained  standing. 

"Polls  is  open,  Mr.  Chairman,"  says  he. 

"They  was  declared  so,  but — er — the  voters  has  gone. 
I  hain't  clear  how  to  perceed." 

"Do  your  duty,  chairman,  like  you  said.  Town  meetin's 
don't  calc'late  to  take  account  of  hoss  races,  do  they? 
Eh?  .  .  .  None  of  your  affair,  is  it?" 

Pilkinton  looked  at  Scattergood,  who  smiled  genially 
and  said:  "Duty's  duty,  Pilkinton.  If  you  was  to  fail 
in  your  duty  as  a  public  officer,  folks  might  git  to  think 
you  wasn't  the  sort  of  citizen  that  could  be  trusted. 
Might  even  affect  sich  things  as  credit  and  promissory 
notes." 

Mr.  Pilkinton  no  longer  hesitated. 

"The  polls  is  open,"  he  said. 

The  fifty-two,  ballots  ready  in  their  hands,  started  for 
the  box,  but  Town-marshal  Pease,  awakened  from  his 
astonishment,  lifted  his  voice. 

"I  got  to  stop  that  hoss  race.  Stop  the  votin'  till  I  git 
back.  That  hoss  race  has  got  to  be  stopped." 

"Seems  to  me  like  votes  was  more  important  than  hoss 
races,"  said  Scattergood. 

"The  town  marshal  will  stay  right  where  he  is,  and 
guard  the  ballot  box,"  said  the  chairman. 

The  voters  moved  to  the  front,  and  as  they  deposited 
their  ballots,  sounds  from  without,  indicating  excitement 


HE  DIPS  IN  HIS  SPOON  179 

and  delight,  were  carried  through  the  windows  to  their 
ears.  The  fifty-two  voted  and  returned  to  their  seats. 

"If  everybody  present  and  desirin'  to  vote  has  done  so," 
said  Scattergood,  "I  move  you  them  polls  be  closed." 

Mr.  Pilkinton  put  the  motion,  and  it  was  carried  with 
enthusiasm. 

"Tellers,"  suggested  Scattergood. 

As  was  the  custom,  the  votes  were  counted  immediately. 
The  result  stood,  Marvin  Towne:  fifty-three  votes;  Jim 
Allen,  two  votes;  Pazzy  Cox,  four  votes. 

"I  declare  Marvin  Towne  elected  our  representative  to 
the  legislature,"  said  Chairman  Pilkinton,  weakly,  and  sat 
down,  mopping  his  brow. 

"That  bein'  the  final  business  of  this  meetin',"  said 
Scattergood,  "I  move  we  adjourn." 

The  story  swept  the  state.  Twenty-four  hours  later 
Lafe  Siggins  visited  Coldriver  and  was  driven  to  Scatter- 
good  Baines's  hardware  store.  Scattergood  sat  on  the 
piazza,  and  as  soon  as  the  visitor  was  identified  the  male 
inhabitants  of  the  village  began  to  gather. 

"Kin  we  talk  in  private?"  said  Mr.  Siggins. 

"Hain't  got  no  need  for  privacy.  Folks  is  welcome  to 
listen  to  all  I  got  to  say." 

Mr.  Siggins  frowned,  but,  being  a  politician  and  par- 
tially estimating  the  quality  of  his  man,  he  did  not 
protest. 

"You  beat  us  clever,"  said  he. 

"Calc'lated  to,"  said  Scattergood. 

"In  politics  for  good?" 

"Calc'late  to  be." 

"What  you  aim  to  do?" 

"Kind  of  look  after  the  politics  in  Coldriver." 

"Be  you  fur  me  or  ag'in'  me?" 

"I'm  fur  you  till  my  mind  changes." 


180  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"How  about  this  here  Prohibition  party?" 

"Don't  figger  it's  necessary  after  this." 

"Guess  we  kin  agree,"  said  Siggins.  "You  can  figger 
the  party  machinery's  behind  you.  So  fur's  we're  con- 
cerned, you're  Coldriver." 

"Calc'lated  to  be,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Some  day,"  said  Siggins,  in  not  willing  admiration, 
"you're  goin'  to  run  the  state." 

"Calc'late  to,"  said  Scattergood,  and  thereby  rather 
took  Mr.  Siggins's  breath.  "Figger  on  makin'  politics 
kind  of  a  side  issue  to  the  hardware  business.  Find  it 
mighty  stimilatin'.  Politics  took  in  moderation,  follerin' 
a  meal  of  business,  makes  an  all-fired  tasty  dessert.  .  .  . 
G'-by,  Siggins,  g'-by." 


CHAPTER  IX 

HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING   SYRUP 

"  (^  ALC'LATE  both  them  young  folks  was  guilty  of  an 

v^<  error  of  jedgment  when  they  up  and  married  each 
other,"  said  Will  Pratt,  postmaster  of  Coldriver,  in  the 
judicial  tone  which  he  had  affected  since  his  elevation  to 
office. 

"Mean  Marthy  Norton  and  Jed  Lewis,  Will?  Referrin' 
to  them  especial?"  Scattergood  peered  after  the  young 
couple  who  had  the  moment  before  passed  his  hardware 
store,  not  walking  jovially  in  the  enjoyment  of  each 
other's  presence  as  youn~  married  folks  should  walk,  but 
sullenly  and  in  silence. 

"  They  be  the  i-dentical  ones,"  Will  declared.  "  Naggin' 
and  quarrelin'  and  bickerin'  from  sunup  to  milkin'  time. 
Used  to  do  it  private  like,  but  it's  been  gittin'  so  lately 
you  can't  pass  the  house  without  hearin'  'em  referrin'  to 
each  other  mighty  sharp  and  searchin'." 

"Um! . . .  Difficulty  appears  to  be  what,  Will?  Got  any 
idee  where  lies  the  seat  of  the  trouble?  " 

"They  jest  hain't  habitually  suited  to  one  another,"  said 
Will.  "Whatever  one  of  'em  is  fur  the  tother's  ag'in'. 
Looks  like  they  go  to  bed  spiteful  and  wake  up  acr'moni- 
ous.  'Tain't  like  as  if  Jed  was  the  breed  of  feller  that 
beats  his  wife,  or  that  Marthy  was  the  kind  that  looks 
out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye  at  drummers  stoppin'  to  the 
hotel." 

"Jest  kind  of  irritate  one  another,  eh?"  said  Scatter- 
good,  thoughtfully.  "Kind  of  git  on  each  other's  nerves, 


182  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

you  might  say.  Um!  ...  I  call  to  mind  when  they  was 
married,  five  year  ago.  'Twan't  indicated  them  days. 
Jed  he  couldn't  set  easy  if  Marthy  wasn't  nigh,  and 
Marthy  went  around  lookin'  as  if  she'd  swallered  a  pin 
and  it  hurt  if  Jed  was  more  'n  forty  rod  off.  If  ever  two 
young  folks  was  all  het  up  over  each  other,  Jed  and 
Marthy  was  them  young  folks.  .  .  .  And  'twan't  but  five 
year  ago.  ..." 

"End  by  separating"  said  the  postmaster. 

"There's  the  stage  a-rattlin'  in,"  Scattergood  said,  sud- 
denly. "Better  git  ready  f'r  distributin'  the  mail,  Will. 
G'-by,  Will;  and,  Will,  if  'twas  me  I  dunno  but  what  I'd 
kind  of  keep  my  mouth  shet  about  Marthy  and  Jed. 
Outside  gabblin'  hain't  calc'lated  to  help  matters  none. 
G'-by,  Will." 

The  postmaster  recognized  his  dismissal;  he  knew  that 
the  manner  which  had  fallen  upon  Scattergood  portended 
that  something  was  on  his  mind  and  that  he  wanted  to 
be  alone  and  think,  so  he  withdrew  hastily  and  plodded 
across  the  dusty  road  to  the  office  of  which  he  was  the 
executive  head. 

As  for  Scattergood,  he  pressed  his  double  chin  down 
upon  his  bulging  chest,  closed  his  eyes,  and  gave  himself 
up  enthusiastically  to  looking  like  a  gigantic  figure  of  dis- 
couragement. He  waggled  his  head  dubiously. 

"Wonder  if  it  kin  be  laid  to  my  door,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "I  figgered  they  was  about  made  f'r  each  other,  and 
I  brung  'em  together.  .  .  .  Somethin's  got  crossways.  Um! 
.  .  .  Take  them  young  folks  separate,  and  you  couldn't  ask 
for  nothin'  better.  .  .  .  Don't  understand  it  a  mite.  .  .  . 
Anyhow,  things  has  turned  out  as  they  be,  and  what  kin 
I  do  about  it?" 

His  reinforced  chair  creaked  under  the  shifting  of  his 
great  weight  as  he  bent  mechanically  to  remove  his  shoes. 
With  his  toes  imprisoned  in  leather,  Scattergood's  brain 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP      183 

refused  to  function,  a  characteristic  which  greatly  cha- 
grined his  wife,  Mandy — so  much  so  that  she  had  con- 
sidered sewing  him  up  in  his  footwear,  as  certain  mothers 
in  the  community  sewed  their  children  in  their  underwear 
for  the  winter. 

Scattergood  had  amassed  a  fortune  that  might  be  called 
handsome,  but  it  had  not  made  him  effete.  His  income 
had  never  warranted  him  in  purchasing  a  pair  of  socks, 
so  now,  upon  the  removal  of  his  shoepacs,  his  toes  were 
fully  at  liberty  to  squirm  and  wriggle  in  the  most  soul- 
satisfying  manner.  He  sat  thus,  battling  with  his  prob- 
lem, until  Pliny  Pickett,  driver  of  the  stage,  and  Scatter- 
good 's  man,  rattled  up  to  the  store  in  his  dust-whitened 
conveyance. 

"Afternoon,  Scattergood,"  he  said,  in  a  manner  which 
he  endeavored  to  make  as  like  his  employer's  as  possible. 

"Afternoon,  Pliny.  Successful  trip,  Pliny?  Plenty  of 
passengers?  Eh?  Any  news  down  the  valley?" 

"Done  middlin'  well.  Hain't  much  news,  'ceptin'  that 
young  Widder  Conroy  down  to  Tupper  Falls  died  of  some- 
thin'  the  matter  with  her  stummick  and  folks  is  wonderin' 
what  '11  become  of  her  baby." 

"Baby?  What  kind  of  a  baby  did  she  calc'late  to 
have?" 

"A  he  one — nigh  onto  two  year  old.  Neighbors  is 
lookin'  after  him." 

"Got  relatives?" 

"Not  that  anybody  knows  of." 

"Um! .  .  .  Wasn't  passin'  Jed  Lewis's  house,  was  you?" 

"  Didn't  figger  to." 

"Wasn't  passin'  Jed  Lewis's,  was  you?"  Scattergood 
repeated,  insistently. 

"I  could." 

"Um! ...  If  you  was  to,  and  if  you  seen  Jed,  what  was 
you  figgerin'  on  sayin'  to  him?  " 

13 


184  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Pliny  scratched  his  head  and  pondered. 

"Calc'late  I'd  mention  the  heat  some,  and  maybe  I 
might  say  suthin'  about  national  politics." 

"Wouldn't  mention  me,  would  you,  Pliny?  Don't 
figger  my  name  might  come  up?" 

"It  might." 

"If  it  did,  what  'u'd  you  say,  eh?  Hain't  no  reason  for 
mentionin'  that  I  might  want  to  talk  to  him,  is  there? 
Hain't  said  so,  have  I?" 

"You  hain't,"  said  Pliny,  at  last  enlightened  as  to 
Scattergood's  desire  in  the  matter 

"G'-by,  Pliny." 

"G'-by,  Scattergood." 

An  hour  later  Jed  Lewis  sauntered  past  the  store  and 
stopped.  "Pliny  Pickett  says  you  want  to  see  me, 
Scattergood." 

"Said  that,  did  he?  Told  you  I  said  I  wanted  to  see 
you?" 

"Wa-al,  maybe  not  exactly.  Not  in  so  many  words. 
But  he  kind  of  hinted  around  and  pecked  around  till  I 
figgered  that  was  what  the  ol'  coot  was  gittin'  at." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Didn't  tell  him  nothin'  of  the  kind,  but  as 
long's  you're  here  you  might  as  well  set.  Hain't  seen 
much  of  you  lately.  How's  the  hayin'?" 

"Too  much  rain.  Got  her  cocked  twice  and  had  to 
spread  her  ag'in  to  dry." 

"Hear  any  politics  talked  around,  Jed?" 

"Nothin'  special." 

Jed  was  brief  in  his  answers.  He  seemed  depressed,  and 
conducted  himself  like  a  man  who  had  something  on  his 
mind. 

"Any  fresh  news  from  anywheres?" 

"Hain't  heard  none." 

"Hear  about  the  Packinses  down  to  Bailey?" 

"Never  beard  tell  of  'em."    There  was  excellent  reason 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     185 

for  this,  because  no  such  family  as  the  Packinses  existed 
in  Bailey  or  anywhere  else,  to  Scattergood's  knowledge. 

"Goin'  to  separate,"  said  Scattergood. 

Jed  looked  up  quickly,  bit  his  lip,  and  looked  down 
again. 

"What  fur?  "he  asked. 

"Nobody  kin  figger  out.  Jest  agreein'  to  disagree. 
Can't  git  along,  nohow.  Always  naggin'  at  each  other  and 
squab  blin'  and  hectorin'.  .  .  .  Nice  young  folks,  too. 
Used  to  set  a  heap  of  store  by  one  another.  Can't  figger 
how  they  come  to  disagree  like  they  do!" 

"Nobody  kin  figger  it  out,"  said  Jed,  with  sudden 
vehemence.  "All  to  once  you  wake  up  and  things  is  that 
way,  and  you  dunno  how  they  come  to  be.  It  jest  drifts 
along.  Fust  you  know  things  has  went  all  to  smash." 

"Um!  .  .  .  You  talk  like  you  knowed  somethin'  about 
it." 

"Nobody  knows  more,"  said  the  young  man,  bitterly. 
He  was  suddenly  conscious  that  he  wanted  to  talk  about 
his  domestic  affairs;  that  he  wanted  to  loose  the  story  of 
his  troubles  and  dwell  upon  them  in  all  their  ramifications. 

"Do  tell,"  said  Scattergood,  with  an  inflection  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"Marthy  and  me  has  about  come  to  the  partin'  of  our 
roads,"  said  Jed.  "It's  come  gradual,  without  our  noticin' 
it,  but  it's  here  at  last.  Seems  like  we  can't  bear  the  sight 
of  each  other — when  we  git  together.  And  yit — sounds 
mighty  funny,  too — I  calc'late  to  be  as  fond  of  Marthy 
as  ever  I  was.  But  the  minute  we  git  together  we  bicker 
and  quarrel  till  there  hain't  no  pleasure  into  life  at  all." 

"All  Marthy's  fault,  hain't  it?  Kind  of  a  mean  dis- 
position, hain't  she?" 

"No  sich  thing,  Scattergood,  and  you  know  it  dum  welL 
There  didn't  use  to  be  a  sweeter-dispositioned  girl  in  the 
state  than  Marthy.  .  .  .  Somethin's  jest  went  wrong. 


186  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

They's  times  when  I  git  mad  and  it  all  looks  to  be  her  fault, 
and  then  I  ketch  my  own  self  startin'  some  hectorin' 
meanness.  'Tain't  all  her  fault,  and  'tain't  all  my  fault. 
The  whole  sum  and  substance  of  it  is  that  we  can't  git 
along  with  each  other  no  more." 

"So  you  calc'late  to  separate?" 

"Been  talkin'  it  up  some." 

"Marthy  willin'?" 

"Hain't  neither  of  us  willin'.  We  fix  it  up  and  agree  to 
try  over  ag'in,  and  then,  fust  thing  we  know,  we're  right 
into  the  middle  of  another  squabble.  I  want  Marthy,  and 
I  guess  Marthy  wants  me,  but  we  want  each  other  like  we 
was  five  year  back  and  not  like  we  be  now." 

"Been  married  five  year,  hain't  you?" 

"Five  year  last  April." 

"Una!  .  .  .  Wa-al,  I  hope  nothin'  comes  of  it,  Jed.  But 
if  it  has  to  it  will.  Better  live  happy  separate  than  un- 
happy together.  .  .  .  G'-by,  Jed." 

Scattergood  did  not  discuss  this  problem  with  Mandy, 
his  wife,  as  it  was  his  custom  to  discuss  business  problems. 
He  did  not  mention  the  young  Lewises  because  the  first 
rule  of  Mandy's  life  was  "Mind  your  own  business,"  and 
it  irritated  her  beyond  measure  to  see  Scattergood  poking 
his  finger  into  every  dish  that  offered.  He  did  talk  the 
matter  over  with  Deacon  Pettybone,  but  got  little  enlight- 
enment for  his  pains. 

"Don't  seem  natteral,"  Scattergood  said,  "f'r  young 
folks  to  git  to  quarrelin'  and  bickerin'  ontil  life  hain't 
endurable  no  longer.  'Tain't  natteral  a-tall.  Somethin' 
must  be  all-fired  wrong  somewheres." 

"It's  human  nature  to  quarrel,"  said  the  deacon,  gloom- 
ily. "Nothin'  onusual  about  it." 

"Human  nature,"  said  Scattergood,  "gits  blamed  f'r 
a 'heap  of  things  that  ought  to  be  laid  at  the  door  of  human 
cussedness." 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     187 

"Same  thing,"  said  the  deacon.  "If  you're  human 
you're  cussed.  Used  to  be  so  in  the  Garden  of  Eden, 
and  it  '11  keep  on  bein'  so  till  Gabriel  blows  his  final 
trump." 

"'Tain't  no  more  natteral  to  bicker  than  'tis  to  have 
dispepsy.  Quarrelin'  and  hectorin'  hain't  nothin'  but  a 
kind  of  dispepsy  that  attacks  families  instid  of  stummicks. 
In  both  cases  it  means  some  thin'  is  wrong." 

"Can't  cure  a  unhappy  family  with  a  dose  of  calomel," 
said  the  deacon,  acidly. 

"Hain't  so  sure.  Bet  that  identical  remedy'  u'd  fix  up 
three  out  of  ten.  But  somethin'  else  is  wrong  with  them 
young  Lewises.  A  dose  of  sometbin'  'u'd  cure  'em,  if  only 
a  feller  could  figger  out  what  'twas." 

"Might  try  soothin'  syrup,"  said  the  deacon,  with  an 
ironic  grin.  "Sounds  like  it  ought  to  git  results.  .  .  . 
Soothin'  syrup — eh?  Have  to  tell  the  boys  that  one. 
Soothin'  syrup.  Perty  good  f'r  an  old  man.  Don't  call 
to  mind  makin'  no  joke  like  that  f'r  twenty  year." 

"  Do  it  often,  Deacon,"  said  Scattergood,  gravely.  "  You 
won't  have  to  take  so  much  sody  followin'  meals  to  sweeten 
you  up.  ...  G'-by,  Deacon.  .  .  .  Soothin'  syrup.  Um!  .  .  . 
I  swanny.  ..." 

He  looked  across  the  square  and  saw  that  Pliny  Pickett 
was  delighting  an  audience  with  apochryphal  reminis- 
cences, doubtless  of  a  gallant  and  spicy  character.  It  is 
characteristic  of  Scattergood  that  he  waited  until  Pliny 
had  reached  his  climax,  shot  it  off,  and  was  doubled  up 
with  laughter  at  his  own  narration,  before  he  lifted  up 
his  voice  and  summoned  the  stage  driver. 

"Hey,  Pliny!    Step  over  here  a  minute." 

"Comin',"  said  Pliny,  with  alacrity.  Then  in  an  aside 
to  his  audience:  "See  that?  Can't  let  an  evenin'  pass 
without  a  conference  with  me.  Sets  a  heap  of  store  by 
my  judgment." 


188  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Sets  more  store  by  your  laigs,"  said  Old  Man  Bogle. 
"They  kin  run  errants,  anyhow." 

Pliny  hastened  across  the  square,  and  in  careful  imita- 
tion of  Scattergood  said,  "Evenin',  Scattergood." 

"Evenin',  Pliny.  Flow  of  language  good  as  usual  to- 
night? Didn't  meet  with  no  trouble  sayin'  what  you  had 
to  say?" 

"Not  a  mite,  Scattergood." 

"Come  through  Bailey  to-day?" 

"Calc'lated  to." 

"Any  news?" 

"Nary." 

"What's  become  of  that  What's-his-name  baby  you  was 
a-tellin'  about?  The  one  that  lost  his  ma  and  was  bein' 
cared  for  by  neighbors?" 

"Nothin*  hain't  become  of  him.  Calc'late  he'll  be  took 
to  a  institution." 

"Um!  Likely-lookin'  two-year-old,  was  he?  Take  note 
of  any  blemishes?" 

"I  hear  tell  by  them  that  knows  as  how  he  was  sound 
in  wind  and  limb." 

"Who's  keepin'  him,  Pliny?" 

"Mis'  Patterson's  sort  of  shuffled  him  in  with  her 
seven.  Says  she  don't  notice  no  difference  to  speak  of. 
Claims  'tain't  possible  f 'r  eight  childern  to  be  no  noisier  'n 
what  seven  be." 

"Um!  .  .  .  G'-by,  Pliny.  Ever  deal  in  facts  over 
there  to  the  post  office?  Ever  have  occasion  to  mention 
facts?" 

"Er — not  reg'lar  facts,  Scattergood.  You  needn't  to 
worry  about  my  talkin'  too  free." 

"Seems  like  a  feller  that  talks  as  much  as  you  do  would 
have  to  mention  a  fact  once  in  a  while.  G'-by,  Pliny." 

It  was  two  or  three  days  later  that  Postmaster  Pratt 
alluded  again  to  Martha  and  Jed  Lewis. 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     189 

"They're  gittin'  wuss  and  wuss,"  he  said,  with  some 
gratification.  "Last  night  they  was  a  rumpus  you  could 
'a'  heard  forty  mile.  Ended  up  by  him  threatenin'  to 
leave  her,  and  by  her  tellin'  him  that  if  he  didn't  she'd 
lock  him  out  of  the  house.  Looks  to  me  like  that  family 
fracas  was  about  ripe  to  bust." 

"Signs  all  p'int  that  way,  Will.  Too  bad,  hain't  it? 
There's  a  reason  f'r  it,  I  calc'late.  Ever  look  f'r  the  rea- 
son, Will?  Ever  think  about  it  at  all?" 

"Hain't  had  no  time.  Post  office  keeps  me  thinkin' 
night  and  day." 

"Well,  I  have.    Figgered  a  heap." 

"Any  results,  Scattergood? " 

"Some — some." 

"What  be  they?" 

Scattergood's  eyes  twinkled  in  the  darkness.  "I  got 
it  all  figgered  out,"  he  said,  "that  them  young  folks  needs 
a  dose  of  soothin'  syrup." 

"I  want  to  know,"  said  the  postmaster,  breathlessly 
and  with  bewilderment.  "Soothin'  syrup!  I  swan  to 
man!  .  .  .  Hain't  been  out  in  the  heat,  have  you,  Scatter- 
good?" 

Scattergood  made  no  reply  to  this  question.  He  merely 
waggled  his  head  and  said:  "G'-by,  Will.  G'-by." 

Next  morning  Scattergood  walked  past  the  Lewis  place. 
He  passed  it  three  times  before  he  made  up  his  mind 
whether  to  go  in  or  not,  but  finally  he  turned  through  the 
gate  and  walked  around  to  the  kitchen  door.  Inside  he 
saw  Martha  ridding  up  the  kitchen,  not  with  a  morning 
song  on  her  lips,  but  wearing  a  sullen  expression  which 
sat  ill  on  her  fine  New  England  face. 

"Mornin',  Marthy,"  he  called. 

She  looked  up  and  smiled  suddenly.  The  change  in 
her  face  was  astonishing. 

"Mornin',  Mr.  Baines.    Set  right  down  on  the  porch. 


190  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

.  .  .  Let  me  fetch  you  a  hot  cup  of  coffee.  'Twon't  take 
but  a  minute  to  make." 

"Can't  stop,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  was  lookin'  for 
Jed." 

"Jed's  gone,"  she  replied,  shortly,  the  sullen  expression 
returning  to  her  face.  "He  won't  be  back  'fore  noon." 

"Uh-huh!  .  .  .  Wa-al,  I  calc'late  I  kin  keep  on  drawin* 
my  breath  till  then — if  you  kin.  I  call  to  mind  the  time 
when  you  was  all-fired  oneasy  if  Jed  got  away  from  you 
for  six  hours  in  a  stretch." 

"Them  times  is  gone,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"Shucks!"  said  Scattergood. 

"They  be,"  she  said,  fiercely.  "Hain't  no  use  tryin'  to 
hide  it.  Jed  and  me  is  about  through.  Nothin'  but  fussin' 
and  backbitin'  and  maneuvering  He  don't  care  f'r  me 
no  more  like  he  used  to,  and — " 

"You  don't  set  sich  a  heap  of  store  by  him,"  Scatter- 
good  interrupted. 

Martha  hesitated.  "I  do,"  she  said,  slowly.  "But  I 
can't  put  up  with  it  no  more." 

"Jed's  fault — mostly,"  said  Scattergood,  as  one  speaks 
who  utters  an  accepted  fact. 

"No  more  'n  mine,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flash.  "I 
dunno  what's  got  into  us,  Mr.  Baines,  but  we  no  sooner 
git  into  the  same  room  than  it  commences.  'Tain't  no- 
body's fault — it  jest  is." 

"Urn! .  .  .  Kinder  like  to  have  things  the  way  they  used 
to  be?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Baines!"  Her  eyes  rilled.  "Them  first  two- 
three  years!  Jed  was  the  best  man  a  woman  ever  had." 

" Hain't  drinkin',  is  he?" 

"Never  touches  a  drop." 

"Jest  his  nasty  temper,"  said  Scattergood,  casually. 

"No  sich  thing.  . .  .  It's  jest  happened  so.  We  can't  git 
on,  and  I'm  through  tryin'.  One  of  us  is  goin'  to  git  out 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     191 

of  this  house.  I've  made  up  my  mind."  She  started  un- 
tying her  apron.  "I'm  a-goin'  right  now.  It  '11  be  off'n 
my  mind  then,  and  I  kin  sort  of  git  a  fresh  start.  I'm 
goin'  right  now  and  pack." 

"Kind  of  hasty,  hain't  you?  .  .  .  Now,  Marthy,  as  a 
special  favor  to  me  I  wish  you'd  stay,  maybe  two  days 
more.  I  got  a  special  reason.  If  you  was  to  go  this 
mornin'  it  'u'd  upset  my  plans.  After  Sattidy  you  kin  do 
as  you  like,  and  maybe  it's  best  you  should  part.  But  I 
do  wisht  you  could  see  your  way  to  stayin'  till  Sattidy." 

"I  don't  see  why,  Mr.  Baines,  but  if  it  '11  be  any  good  to 
you,  I'll  do  it.  But  not  a  minute  after  Sattidy — now  mind 
that!" 

"Much 'bleeged,  Marthy.    G '-by,  Marthy.    G'-by." 

On  Friday  Scattergood  was  invisible  in  Coldriver  village, 
for  he  had  started  away  before  dawn,  driving  his  sway- 
backed  horse  over  the  mountain  roads  to  the  southward. 
He  notified  nobody  of  his  going,  unless  it  was  Mandy,  his 
wife,  and  even  to  her  he  did  not  make  apparent  his  errand. 

Before  noon  he  was  in  Bailey  and  stopping  before  the 
small  white  house  in  which  Mrs.  Patterson  managed  by 
ingenuity  to  fit  in  a  husband,  a  mother-in-law,  an  aged 
father,  seven  children  of  her  own,  the  Conroy  orphan,  and 
a  constantly  changing  number  of  cats.  Nobody  could 
have  done  it  but  Mrs.  Patterson.  The  house  resembled 
one  of  those  puzzle  boxes  containing  a  number  of  curiously 
sawn  pieces  of  wood,  which,  once  removed,  can  be  returned 
and  fitted  into  place  again  only  by  some  one  who  knows 
the  secret. 

Scattergood  entered  the  house,  remained  upward  of  an 
hour,  and  then  reappeared,  followed  by  Mrs.  Patterson, 
seven  children,  an  old  man,  and  an  old  woman — and  in  his 
arms  was  a  baby  whose  lungs  gave  promise  of  a  healthy 
manhood. 

"  Do  this  much,  does  he?  "  Scattergood  asked,  uneasily. 


192  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Not  more  'n  most,"  said  Mrs.  Patterson. 

"Um!  ...  If  he  lets  on  to  be  hungry,  what's  the  best 
thing  to  feed  him  up  on?  I  got  a  bag  of  doughnuts  and 
five-six  sandriches  and  nigh  on  to  half  a  apple  pie  in  the 
buggy." 

"Feed  him  them,"  said  Mrs.  Patterson,  "and  you'll  be 
like  to  hear  some  real  yellin'.  What  he's  doin'  now  hain't 
nothin'  but  his  objectin'  to  you  a-carryin'  him  like  he  was 
a  horse  blanket.  .  .  .  You  wait  right  there  till  I  git  a  bottle 
of  milk.  And  I'll  fix  you  some  sugar  in  a  rag  that  you  kin 
put  into  his  mouth  if  he  acts  uneasy.  It  '11  quiet  him  right 
off." 

"Much  'bleeged.  Hain't  had  much  experience  with 
young  uns.  Might's  well  start  now.  Bet  me  'n  this  here 
one  gits  well  acquainted  'fore  we  reach  Coldriver." 

"'Twouldn't  s'prise  me  a  mite,"  replied  Mrs.  Patterson, 
with  something  that  might  have  been  a  twinkle  in  her 
tired  eyes.  "I  almost  feel  I  should  go  along  with  you." 

"G'-by,  Mrs.  Patterson,"  said  Scattergood,  hastily,  and 
he  climbed  into  his  buggy  clumsily,  placing  the  baby  on 
the  seat  beside  him,  and  holding  it  in  place  with  his  left 
arm.  "G'-by." 

The  buggy  rattled  off.  The  baby  hushed  suddenly  and 
began  to  look  at  the  horse. 

"Kind  of  come  to  your  senses,  eh?"  said  Scattergood. 
"Now  you  and  me's  goin'  to  git  on  fine  if  you  jest  keep 
your  mouth  shet.  If  you  behave  yourself  proper  I  dunno 
but  what  I  kin  find  a  stick  of  candy  f 'r  you  when  we  git 
there." 

Presently  Scattergood  looked  down  to  find  the  baby 
asleep.  He  drove  slowly  and  cautiously,  whispering  what 
commands  he  felt  were  indispensable  to  his  horse.  This 
delightful  situation  continued  for  upward  of  two  hours, 
and  Scattergood  said  to  himself  that  folks  who  bothered 
about  traveling  with  infants  must  be  very  easily  worried. 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     193 

"Jest  as  soon  ride  with  this  one  clean  to  the  Pacific  coast," 
he  said. 

And  then  the  baby  awoke.  It  blinked  and  looked 
about  it;  it  rubbed  its  eyes;  it  stared  severely  up  at 
Scattergood;  it  opened  its  mouth  tentatively,  closed  it 
again,  and  then — and  then  it  uttered  such  an  ear-piercing, 
long-drawn  shriek  that  the  old  horse  jumped  with  fright. 

"Hey,  there!"  said  the  startled  Scattergood.  "Hey! 
what's  ailin'  you  now?" 

The  baby  closed  his  eyes,  clenched  his  fists,  kicked  out 
with  his  legs,  and  gave  himself  up  whole-heartedly  to  the 
exercise  of  his  voice. 

"Quit  that,"  said  Scattergood.  "Now  listen  here;  that 
hain't  no  way  to  behave.  You  won't  git  that  candy — " 

Louder  and  more  piercing  arose  the  baby's  cries.  Scat- 
tergood dropped  the  reins,  lifted  the  baby  to  his  knee,  and 
jounced  it  up  and  down  furiously,  performing  an  act  which 
he  imagined  to  be  singing,  a  thing  he  had  heard  was  inter- 
esting and  soothing  to  babies.  It  did  not  even  attract  this 
one's  attention. 

"Sufferin'  heathen!"  Scattergood  said.  "What  in  tunket 
was  it  that  woman  said  I  sh'u'd  do?  Hain't  they  no  way 
of  shuttin'  him  off?  Look-ee  here,  young  feller,  you  jest 
quit  it.  ...  B'jing!  here's  my  watch.  You  kin  listen  to  it 
tick." 

The  baby  tried  the  watch  on  his  toothless  gums,  found 
it  not  to  his  taste,  and  flung  it  from  him  with  such  vehe- 
mence that  it  would  have  suffered  permanent  injury  but  for 
the  size  and  strength  of  the  silver  chain  which  attached 
it  to  Scattergood.  The  cries  became  more  maddening. 
Scattergood  was  not  hungry,  so  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  the  infant  might  be  thinking  of  food.  He  dandled 
it,  he  whistled,  he  sang,  he  pointed  out  the  interesting 
attributes  of  his  horse,  and  promised  to  direct  attention 
to  a  rabbit  or  even  a  deer  in  a  moment,  but  nothing 


194  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

availed.  Perspiration  was  pouring  down  Scattergood's 
face,  and  his  expression  was  that  of  a  man  who  devoutly 
wishes  he  were  far  otherwise  than  he  is. 

Half  an  hour  of  this  seemed  to  Scattergood  like  the 
length  of  a  sizable  day — and  then  he  remembered  the  milk. 
Frantically  he  6shed  it  out  of  the  basket  and  thrust  it 
toward  the  young  person,  who  did  with  it  what  seemed 
right  to  him,  and,  with  a  gurgle  of  satisfaction,  settled 
down  to  business.  Scattergood  sighed,  wiped  his  forehead, 
and  revised  his  opinion  of  folks  who  were  worried  at  the 
prospect  of  travel  with  an  infant. 

The  rest  of  that  drive  was  a  nightmare  to  Scattergood. 
When  the  baby  yelled  he  was  in  torment.  When  the  baby 
slept  he  was  in  torment  lest  he  wake  it,  so  that  it  would 
commence  again  to  cry.  He  sweat  cold  and  he  sweat  hot, 
and  he  wished  wishes  in  his  secret  heart  and  blamed  him- 
self for  many  things — chief  of  which  was  that  he  had  not 
brought  Mandy  along  to  bear  the  brunt  of  the  adventure. 

But  at  last,  long  after  nightfall,  with  baby  fast  asleep, 
Scattergood  drove  into  Coldriver  by  deserted  and  cir- 
cuitous roads.  He  stopped  his  horse  in  a  dark  spot  on 
the  edge  of  the  village,  and,  with  the  baby  cautiously  held 
in  his  arms,  he  slunk  through  back  ways  and  short  cuts 
to  the  house  where  Jed  and  Martha  Lewis  made  their 
home.  With  meticulous  stealth  he  passed  through  the 
gate,  laid  the  baby  on  the  doorstep,  rang  the  bell  long  and 
determinedly,  and  then,  with  astonishing  quiet  and  agility, 
hid  himself  in  the  midst  of  a  clump  of  lilacs. 

The  door  opened,  and  a  light  shone  through  upon  the 
squirming  bundle  that  lay  upon  the  step.  A  tentative 
cry  issued  from  the  baby;  a  bass  exclamation  issued  from 
Jed  Lewis.  "My  Gawd!  Marthy,  somebody's  left  a  baby 
here!" 

Martha  pushed  past  her  husband  and  lifted  the  baby  in 
her  arms.  She  said  no  word,  but  Scattergood  could  see 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     195 

her  press  it  close,  and,  in  the  light  that  came  through  the 
door,  could  see  the  expression  of  her  face.  It  satisfied 
him. 

"What  we  goin'  to  do  with  the  doggone  thing?"  Jed 
demanded. 

Martha  pushed  past  him  into  the  house,  and  he  followed, 
wordless,  closing  the  door  after  them.  .  .  .  Scattergood 
remained  for  some  time,  and  then  slunk  away.  .  .  . 

Postmaster  Pratt  gave  the  news  to  Scattergood  in  the 
morning. 

"Somebody  went  and  left  a  baby  on  to  Jed  Lewis's 
stoop  last  night,"  he  declared.  "Hain't  nobody  been  able 
to  identify  it.  Nary  a  mark  nor  a  sign  on  to  it  no  place. 
.  .  .  Whatever  possessed  anybody  to  leave  a  baby  there  of 
all  places?" 

"I  want  to  know!"  exclaimed  Scattergood.  "Girl  er 
boy?" 

"Boy,  I'm  told." 

"What's  Jed  say?" 

"Hain't  sayin'  much.  Jest  sets  and  kind  of  hangs  on  to 
his  head,  and  every  once  in  a  while  he  gits  up  and  looks  at 
the  baby  and  then  goes  back  to  holdin'  his  head." 

"How  about  Marthy?" 

"Marthy,"  said  Postmaster  Pratt.  "I  can't  make  out 
about  Marthy,  but  I  heard  her  a-singin'  this  mornin'  'fore 
breakfast.  Fust  time  I  heard  her  sing  for  more  'n  a  year." 

"Might  'a'  been  singin'  to  the  baby,"  Scattergood 
suggested. 

"Naw,  it  was  while  she  was  gittin'  breakfast.  Jest  the 
time  she  and  Jed  quarrels  most  powerful." 

During  the  day  all  of  Coldriver  called  to  see  the  mys- 
terious infant.  Nobody  could  give  a  clue  to  its  identity, 
and  it  was  decided  unanimously  that  it  had  been  brought 
from  a  distance.  As  to  the  intentions  of  the  Lewises  re- 
garding its  disposition,  they  were  noncommittal.  It  was 


196  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

universally  accepted  as  fact,  however,  that  the  baby 
would  be  sent  to  an  institution. 

Thereupon  Scattergood  called  upon  the  First  Selectman. 

"What's  the  town  goin'  to  do  about  that  baby?"  he 
demanded.  "Taxpayers  '11  be  wantin'  to  know.  Seems 
like  the  town's  liable  f'r  its  support." 

"Calc'late  we  be.  .  .  .  Calc'late  we  be.  I  been  figgerin' 
on  what  steps  to  take." 

"Better  go  across  to  Jed's  and  notify  'em,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "They'll  be  expectin'  you  to  take  action  prompt. 
I'll  go  'long  with  you." 

They  walked  down  the  street  and  rapped  at  the  Lewises' 
door. 

"Come  on  official  business,"  said  the  First  Selectman, 
pompously,  to  Jed,  "connected  with  that  there  found- 
lin'." 

Martha  came  hastily  into  the  room.  "What  you  want?  " 
she  demanded,  in  a  dangerous  voice. 

"Come  to  tell  you  we  would  take  that  baby  off'n  your 
hands  and  send  it  to  a  institution.  Git  it  ready,  and  we'll 
take  it  to-morrer." 

"Take  that  baby!  .  .  .  Did  you  hear  him,  Jed  Lewis? 
Did  you  hear  that  man  say  as  how  he  was  goin'  to  take 
away  my  baby?"  She  stumbled  across  the  room  to  Jed 
and  clutched  the  lapels  of  his  coat.  Scattergood  noticed 
with  some  pleasure  that  Jed's  arm  went  automatically 
about  her  waist.  "Make  'em  git  out,  Jed.  Tell  'em  they 
can't  take  this  baby.  .  .  .  You  want  we  should  keep  it, 
don't  you,  Jed?  .  .  .  We  wanted  one.  You  know  how  we 
wanted  one.  .  .  .  You're  goin'  to  let  us  keep  it,  hain't  you, 
Jed?" 

Jed  put  Martha  aside  gently  and  walked  over  to  a 
makeshift  crib  in  the  corner,  where  the  baby  was  asleep, 
where  he  stood  for  a  moment  looking  down  at  it  with  a 
curious  expression.  Then  he  turned  suddenly,  strode  to 


HE  ADMINISTERS  SOOTHING  SYRUP     197 

the  door,  opened  it,  and  pointed.  "Git!"  he  said  to  the 
First  Selectman  and  Scattergood. 

"Jed  ...  Jed  . ...  darlin',"  Martha  cried,  and  as  Scatter- 
good  passed  out  he  saw  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  that  she 
was  sobbing  on  her  husband's  hickory  shirt  and  that  he 
was  patting  her  back  with  awkward  gentleness. 

"Looked  a  mite  like  Jed  wanted  we  should  go,"  said 
Scattergood. 

"I'll  have  the  law  on  to  him.  He'll  be  showed  that  he 
can't  stand  up  to  the  First  Selectman  of  this  here  town. 
I'll—" 

"You'll  go  home  and  set  down  in  the  shade  and  cool 
off,"  said  Scattergood,  merrily,  "and  while  you're  a-coolin' 
you  might  sort  of  thank  Gawd  that  there's  sich  things  as 
human  beio's  with  human  feelin's,  and  that  there's  sich 
things  as  babies  .  .  .  that  sometimes  gits  themselves  left 
on  the  right  doorstep.  . . .  G'-by,  Selectman.  G'-by." 

A  week  later  Scattergood  was  passing  the  Lewis  home 
early  in  the  evening.  In  the  side  yard  was  a  hammock 
under  the  trees  which  had  been  unoccupied  this  year  past, 
but  to-night  it  was  occupied  again.  Martha  was  there 
with  the  baby  against  her  breast,  and  Jed  was  there,  his 
arm  tightly  about  his  wife,  and  one  of  the  baby's  hands 
lying  on  his  calloused  palm.  ...  As  Scattergood  watched 
he  saw  Jed  bend  clumsily  and  kiss  the  tiny  fingers  .  .  . 
and  Martha  turned  a  trifle  and  smiled  up  into  her  hus- 
band's eyes. 

Scattergood  passed  on,  blinking,  perhaps  because  dust 
had  gotten  in  his  eyes.  He  stopped  at  the  post  office  and 
spoke  to  Postmaster  Pratt. 

"Call  to  mind  my  speakin'  of  soothin'  syrup  and  Jed 
Lewis  and  his  wife?"  he  asked. 

"Seems  like  I  mind  it,  Scattergood." 

"Jest  walk  past  their  house,  Postmaster.  Calc'late 
you'll  see  I  figgered  clost  to  right.  .  .  .  Marthy's  a-sittin' 


198  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

there  with  Jed  in  the  hammick,  and  they're  a-holdin'  on 
their  lap  the  doggondest  best  soothin'  syrup  f'r  man  and 
wife  that  any  doctor  c'u'd  perscribe.  .  .  .  Calc'late  it's  one 
of  them  nature's  remedies. ...  Go  take  a  look,  Postmaster. 
.  .  .  G'-by." 


CHAPTER  X 

HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK 

SCATTERGOOD  BAINES,  as  he  sat  with  shirt  open 
at  the  throat,  his  huge  body  sagged  down  in  the  chair 
that  had  been  especially  reinforced  to  sustain  his  weight, 
seemed  to  passing  Coldriver  village  to  be  drowsing.  Many 
people  suspected  Scattergood  of  drowsing  when  he  was 
exceedingly  wide  awake  and  observant  of  events.  It  was 
part  of  his  stock  in  trade. 

At  this  moment  he  was  looking  across  the  square  toward 
the  post  office.  A  large,  broad-shouldered  young  man, 
with  hair  sun-bleached  to  a  ruddy  yellow,  had  alighted 
from  a  buggy  and  entered  the  office.  He  was  a  fine,  bulky, 
upstanding  farmer,  built  for  enduring  much  hard  labor 
in  times  of  peace  and  for  performing  feats  of  arms  in  time 
of  war.  He  looked  like  a  fighter;  he  was  a  fighter — a  will- 
ing fighter,  and  folks  up  and  down  the  valley  stepped  aside 
if  it  was  noised  about  that  Abner  Levens  had  broken  loose. 
It  was  not  that  Abner  delighted  in  the  fruit  of  the  vine 
nor  the  essence  of  the  maize;  he  was  a  teetotaler.  But  it 
did  seem  as  if  nature  had  overdone  the  matter  of  provid- 
ing him  with  the  machinery  for  creating  energy  and  had 
overlooked  the  safety  valve.  Wherefore  Abner,  once  or 
twice  a  year,  lost  his  temper. 

Now,  losing  his  temper  was  not  for  Abner  a  matter  of 
uttering  a  couple  of  oaths  and  of  wrapping  a  hoe  handle 
around  a  tree.  He  lost  his  temper  thoroughly  and  seemed 
unable  to  locate  it  again  for  days.  He  rampaged.  He 
roared  up  and  down  the  valley,  inviting  one  and  all  to  step 
14 


200  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

up  and  be  demolished,  which  the  inhabitants  were  very- 
reluctant  to  do,  for  Abner  worked  upon  his  victims  with 
thoroughness  and  enthusiasm. 

When  Abner  was  in  his  normal  humor  he  was  a  jovial, 
noisily  jovial  young  man,  who  would  dance  with  the  girls 
until  the  cock  tired  of  crowing;  who  would  give  a  day's 
"work  to  a  friend;  who  performed  his  civic  and  religious 
duties  punctiliously,  if  gayly;  who  was  honest  to  the 
fraction  of  a  penny;  and  who  would  have  been  the  most 
popular  and  admired  youth  in  the  valley  among  the  maid- 
ens of  the  valley  had  it  not  been  for  their  constant,  uneasy 
fear  that  he  might  suddenly  turn  Berserk. 

It  was  this  young  man  whom  Scattergood  eyed  thought- 
fully, and,  one  might  say,  apprehensively,  for  Scattergood 
liked  the  youth  and  feared  the  germs  of  disaster  that  lay 
quiescent  in  his  powerful  body. 

Pliny  Pickett  lounged  past,  stopped,  eyed  Scattergood, 
and  seated  himself  on  the  step. 

"Abner  Levens  's  in  town,"  he  said. 

"Seen  him,"  answered  Scattergood. 

"Calc'lateAsa'llbein?" 

"Bein'  's  it's  Sattidy  night,  'most  likely  he'll  come." 

"Hope  Abner's  feelin'  friendly,  then,"  said  Pliny  with 
an  anticipatory  twinkle  in  his  shrewd  little  gray  eyes 
which  gave  direct  contradiction  to  his  words.  "If  Abner 
hain't  feelin'  jest  cheerful  them  boys  '11  be  wrastlin'  all 
over  town  and  pushin'  down  houses." 

"They  hain't  never  fit  yet,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Nor  won't  if  Asa  has  the  say  of  it.  ...  He's  full  as  big 
as  Abner,  too.  Otherwise  they  don't  resemble  twins 
none." 

"Hain't  much  brotherly  feelin'  betwixt  'em." 

"I  hain't  clear  as  to  the  rights  of  the  matter,"  said 
Pliny,  "  but  they  hain't  nothin'  like  a  will  dispute  to  make 
bad  blood  betwixt  relatives.  .  .  .  Asa  got  the  best  of  that 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK     201 

argument,  anyhow.  Don't  seem  fair,  exactly,  is  my  opin- 
ion, that  Old  Man  Levens  should  up  and  discriminate 
betwixt  them  boys  like  he  did — givin'  Asa  a  hog's  share." 

"Dunne's  I'd  worry  sich  a  heap  about  that,"  said 
Scattergood,  "if  they  hadn't  both  got  het  up  about  the 
same  gal.  Looks  to  me  like  one  or  tother  of  'em  took  up 
with  that  gal  jest  to  make  mischief.  .  .  .  Seems  like  Abner 
was  settin'  out  with  her  fust." 

"Some  says  both  ways.  I  dunno,"  said  Pliny,  impar- 
tially. "Anyhow,  Abner  he  lets  on  public  and  constant 
that  he's  a-goin'  to  nail  Asa's  hide  to  the  barn  door.  .  .  . 
It's  one  good,  healthy  hate  betwixt  them  boys." 

"And  trouble  '11  come  of  it.  ...  Wonder  which  of  'em 
Mary  Ware  favors?  If  she  favors  either  of  'em,  and 
trouble  comes,  it  '11  mix  her  in." 

"Hope  Abner  gits  him.  Better  for  her,  says  I,  to  take 
up  with  a  man  like  Ab,  that's  a  good  feller  fifty  weeks  out 
of  the  year,  and  goes  on  a  tear  two  weeks,  than  to  be 
married  to  a  cuss  like  Asa  that  jest  goes  along  sort  of 
gloomy  and  still  and  seekin'.  I  hain't  never  heard  Asa 
laugh  with  no  real  enjoyment  into  it  yet.  He  grins  and 
shows  his  teeth.  He's  too  dum  quiet,  and  always  acts  like 
a  feller  that's  afraid  you'U  find  out  what  he's  got  in  mind." 

"Urn!  .  .  ."  said  Scattergood. 

"Mary's  about  the  pertiest  girl  in  Coldriver,"  said 
Pliny.  "Dunno  but  what  she  could  handle  Abner  all 
right,  too.  Call  to  mind  the  firemen's  picnic  last  year 
when  she  went  with  Abner,  and  he  busted  loose  on  that 
feller  with  the  three  shells  and  the  leetle  ball?" 

"When  the  feller  had  robbed  Half-wit  Stenens  of  nigh 
on  to  twenty  doUars?  I  call  to  mind." 

"Abner  was  jest  on  the  p'int  of  separatin'  that  feller 
into  chunks  and  dispersin'  the  chunks  over  the  county 
when  Mary  she  steps  up  and  puts  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
and  says,  'Abner!'  .  .  .  Jest  like  that  she  said  it,  quiet  and 


202  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

gentle,  but  firm.  Abner  he  let  loose  of  the  feller  and 
turned  to  look  at  her,  and  in  a  minute  all  the  fight  went 
out  of  his  face  and  his  eyes  like  somebody  had  drained  it 
off.  He  kind  of  blushed  and  hung  his  head,  and  walked 
away  with  her.  .  .  .  She  didn't  tongue-lash  him,  neither, 
jest  kept  a-touchin'  his  arm  so's  he  wouldn't  forgit  she 
was  there." 

"Urn! .  .  ."  said  Scattergood.  "Here  comes  Asa."  He 
lifted  himself  from  his  creaking  chair  and  started  across 
the  bridge.  "If  it's  a-comin'  off,"  he  said  to  Pliny,  "I 
want  to  git  where  I  kin  git  a  good  view." 

In  the  post  office  the  twin  brothers  came  face  to  face. 
Scattergood  saw  Abner's  thin  lips  twist  in  a  provocative 
sneer.  Abner  halted  suddenly,  at  arm's  length  from  his 
brother,  and  eyed  him  from  head  to  foot,  and  Asa  returned 
an  insolent  stare. 

"You  sneakin'  hound,"  said  Abner,  without  heat,  as 
was  his  way  in  the  beginning,  always.  "You're  lower  'n 
I  thought,  and  I  thought  you  was  low."  Scattergood  took 
in  these  words  and  pondered  them.  Did  they  mean  some 
new  cause  for  enmity  between  the  brothers?  Suddenly 
Abner's  eyes  began  to  kindle  and  to  blaze.  Asa  crouched 
and  his  teeth  showed  in  a  saturnine,  crooked  smile.  No 
man  could  look  upon  him  and  accuse  him  of  being  afraid 
of  Abner  or  of  avoiding  the  issue. 

"I  know  what  you've  been  up  to,  you  slinkin'  varmint. 
...  I  know  where  you  was  Tuesday."  Scattergood  took 
possession  of  this  sentence  and  placed  it  in  the  safety- 
deposit  box  of  his  memory.  Where  had  Asa  been  Tues- 
day, he  wondered,  and  what  had  Asa  been  doing  there? 

"I've  put  up  with  a  heap  from  you,  for  you're  my  own 
flesh  and  blood.  I  hain't  never  laid  a  hand  on  you,  though 
I've  threatened  it  often.  But  now!  by  Gawd,  I'm  goin' 
to  take  you  apart  so's  nobody  kin  put  you  together  ag'in 
.  .  .  you  mis'able,  cheatin',  low-down,  crawlin'  snake." 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK    203 

With  that  he  stepped  back  a  pace  and  with  his  open 
palm  struck  Asa  across  the  mouth. 

Asa  licked  his  lips  and  continued  to  smile  his  crooked, 
saturnine  smile. 

"Hain't  scarcely  room  in  here,"  he  said,  softly. 

"Git  outside  and  take  off  your  coat,"  said  Abner,  "for 
I'm  goin'  to  fix  you  so's  nobody  kin  ever  accuse  flesh 
and  blood  of  mine  of  doin'  ag'in  what  I've  ketched  you 
doin'." 

"What's  gnawin'  you,"  said  Asa,  softly,  "is  that  I  got 
the  best  farm  and  that  I'm  a-goin'  to  git  your  girl." 

There  was  a  stark  pause.  Abner  stiffened,  grew  tense, 
as  one  becomes  at  the  moment  of  bursting  into  dynamic 
action,  but  he  did  not  stir.  Scattergood  was  surprised, 
but  he  was  more  surprised  by  Abner's  next  words.  "I 
hain't  goin'  to  hah0  kill  you  on  account  of  your  lyin'  to 
father,  nor  on  account  of  her — it's  on  account  of  her." 
The  sentence  seemed  without  sense  or  meaning,  but  Scat- 
tergood placed  it  with  his  other  collected  sentences;  he 
did  not  perceive  its  meaning,  but  he  did  perceive  that  the 
first  'her'  and  the  second  'her'  were  pronounced  so  that 
they  became  different  words,  like  names,  indicating,  iden- 
tifying, different  persons.  That  was  Scattergood 's  notion. 

Asa  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  into  the  square,  re- 
moving his  coat  as  he  went;  Abner  followed.  They  faced 
each  other,  crouching,  Abner's  face  depicting  wrath,  Asa's 
depicting  hatred.  .  .  .  Before  a  blow  was  struck,  a  girl,  tall, 
slender,  deep-bosomed,  fit  mate  for  a  man  of  might,  pushed 
through  the  circle  of  spectators.  Her  face  was  pale  and 
distressed,  but  very  lovely.  Her  brown  eyes  were  dark 
with  the  emotion  of  the  moment,  and  a  wisp  of  wavy 
brown  hair  lay  unnoticed  upon  her  broad  forehead.  .  .  . 
She  walked  to  Abner's  side  and  touched  his  arm. 

"Abner!"  she  said,  gently. 

He  turned  his  blazing  eyes  upon  her. 


204  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Not  this  time,"  he  said.  "Go  away,  Mary."  Even 
in  his  rage  he  spoke  to  her  in  a  voice  of  reverence. 

"Abner!"  she  repeated. 

He  turned  to  his  brother.  "You  get  off  this  time,"  he 
said,  evenly,  "but  there  will  be  another  time.  .  .  .  Asa,  I 
think  I  am  going  to  kill  you. . . ." 

Asa  laughed  mockingly,  and  Abner  took  a  threatening 
step  toward  him,  but  Mary  touched  his  arm  again.  "Ab- 
ner!" she  said  once  more;  and  obediently  as  some  well- 
trained  mastiff  he  followed  her  through  the  gaping  ring, 
she  still  touching  his  arm,  and  together  they  walked 
slowly  up  the  road. 

Two  days  later,  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Sheriff  Ulysses  Watts  bustled  down  the  street  wearing  his 
official,  rather  than  his  common,  or  meat-wagon,  air.  He 
paused,  to  speak  excitedly  to  Scattergood,  who  sat  as  usual 
on  the  piazza  of  his  hardware  store. 

"They've  jest  found  Asa  Levens's  body,"  he  ejaculated. 
"A-layin'  clost  to  the  road  it  was,  with  a  bullet  through 
the  head.  Clear  case  of  murder.  ...  I'm  gatherin'  a  posse 
to  fetch  in  the  murderer." 

"Murderer's  known,  is  he?"  said  Scattergood,  leaning 
forward,  and  eying  the  sheriff. 

"Abner,  of  course.  Who  else  would  'a'  done  it?  Hain't 
he  been  a-threatenin'  right  along?  " 

"Anybody  see  him  fire  the  shot,  Sheriff?  Any  wit- 
nesses? " 

"Nary  witness.  Nothin'  but  the  body  a-layin'  where  it 
fell." 

"What  was  the  manner  of  this  shootin',  Sheriff?" 

"All  I  know's  what  I've  told  you." 

"Gatherin'  a  posse,  Ulysses?    Who  be  you  selectin'?" 

"Various  and  sundry,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"Any  objection  to  deputizin'  me?"  said  Scattergood. 
"Any  notion  I  might  help  some?" 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK     205 

"Glad  to  have  you,  Scattergood.  .  .  .  Got  to  hustle. 
'Most  likely  the  murderer's  escapin'  this  minute." 

"Um!  .  .  ."  said  Scattergood.  "Need  any  catridges  or 
anythin'  in  the  hardware  line,  Sheriff?  Figgerin'  on  goin' 
armed,  hain't  you?" 

"Dunno  but  what  the  boys '11  need  somethin'.  You 
keep  open  till  I  gather  'em  here." 

"  I  carry  the  most  reliable  line  of  catridges  in  the  state," 
said  Scattergood.  "  Prices  low I'll  be  waitin',  Sheriff." 

In  twenty  minutes  a  dozen  citizens  of  the  vicinage 
gathered  at  Scattergood's  store,  each  armed  with  his 
favorite  weapon,  rifle  or  double-barreled  shotgun,  and  each 
wearing  what  he  fancied  to  be  the  air  of  a  dangerous  and 
resolute  citizen. 

"Calc'late  he'll  be  desprit,"  said  Jed  Lewis.  "He  won't 
be  took  without  a  fight." 

It  was  characteristic  of  Scattergood  that  he  delayed  the 
setting  out  of  the  posse  until,  by  his  peculiar  methods  of 
salesmanship,  he  had  pressed  upon  various  members 
lethal  merchandise  to  a  value  of  upward  of  twenty  dollars. 
This  being  done,  they  entered  a  big  picnic  wagon  with 
parallel  seats  and  set  out  for  the  scene  of  the  crime. 
Coroner  Bogle  demanded  that  the  body  should  be  viewed 
officially  before  the  man-hunt  should  begin.  Scattergood 
threw  the  weight  of  his  opinion  with  the  coroner. 

The  body  was  found  lying  beside  a  narrow  path  lead- 
ing from  the  road  through  a  field  to  Asa  Levens's  farm- 
house; it  lay  upon  its  face,  with  arms  outstretched,  very 
still  and  very  peaceful,  with  the  morning  sun  shining  down 
upon  it,  and  the  robins  singing  from  shadowing  trees,  and 
insects  buzzing  and  whirring  cheerfully  in  the  fields,  and 
the  fields  themselves  peaceful  and  beautiful  in  their  golden 
embellishments,  ready  for  the  harvest.  Scattergood  looked 
about  him  at  the  trappings  of  the  day,  and  the  thought 
came  unbidden  that  it  was  a  pleasant  spot  in  which  to 


206  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

die  ...  perhaps  more  pleasant  than  the  dead  man 
deserved. 

"Shot  from  behind,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"By  somebody  a-layin'  in  wait,"  said  Jed  Lewis. 

"It  was  murder — cold-blooded  murder,"  said  the  sheriff. 

Scattergood  stepped  forward  as  the  coroner  turned  the 
face  up  to  the  light  of  the  sun. 

"It  was  a  death  by  violence,"  said  Scattergood.  "It 
may  be  murder.  .  .  .  Asa  Levens  wears,  as  he  lies,  the  face 
of  a  man  who  troubled  God.  .  .  ." 

There  was  none  in  that  little  group  to  comprehend  his 
meaning. 

"There  was  no  struggle,"  said  the  coroner. 

"He  never  knowed  he  was  shot,"  said  Jed  Lewis. 

"Be  you  still  a-goin'  to  arrest  Abner  Levens?"  Scatter- 
good  asked. 

"To  be  sure.  He  done  it,  didn't  he?  Who  else  would 
V  killed  Asa?" 

"Who  else?"  said  Scattergood,  solemnly. 

They  raised  Asa  Levens  and  carried  him  to  his  house. 
Having  left  him  in  proper  custody,  the  posse  re-entered  its 
picnic  van  and  drove  with  no  small  trepidation  toward 
Abner  Levens's  farm,  a  mile  away.  Abner  Levens  was 
perceived  from  a  distance,  hoeing  in  a  field. 

"He's  goin'  to  face  it  out,"  said  the  sheriff;  "or  maybe 
he  wasn't  expectin'  Asa  to  be  found  yet." 

The  picnic  van  stopped  beside  the  field  and  the  armed 
posse  scrambled  out,  holding  its  weapons  threateningly; 
but  as  Abner  was  armed  with  nothing  more  lethal  than  a 
hoe  there  was  some  appearance  of  embarrassment  among 
them,  and  more  than  one  man  endeavored  to  make  his 
shooting  iron  invisible  by  dropping  it  in  the  long  grass. 

"Come  on,"  said  the  sheriff,  and  in  a  body  the  posse 
advanced  across  the  field  toward  Abner,  who  leaned  upon 
his  hoe  and  waited  for  them. 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK     207 

"Abner  Levens/'  said  the  sheriff,  in  a  voice  which  was 
not  of  the  steadiest,  "I  arrest  you  for  murder." 

Abner  looked  at  the  sheriff;  Abner  looked  from  one  to 
another  of  the  posse  in  silence.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were 
not  going  to  speak,  but  at  last  he  did  speak. 

"Then  Asa  Levens  is  dead,"  he  said. 

It  was  not  a  question;  it  was  a  statement,  made  with 
conviction.  Scattergood  Baines  noted  that  Abner  called 
his  brother  by  name  as  if  desiring  to  avoid  the  matter  of 
blood  kindred;  that  he  made  no  denial. 

"You  know  it  better  than  anybody,"  said  the  sheriff. 

Abner  looked  past  the  sheriff,  over  the  uneven  fields, 
with  their  rock  fences,  and  beyond  to  the  green  slopes  of 
the  mountains  as  they  upreared  distinct,  majestic,  im- 
posing in  their  serene  permanence  against  the  undimmed 
summer  sky. 

"Asa  Levens  is  dead,"  said  Abner,  presently.  "Now 
I  know  that  God  is  not  infinite  in  everything.  .  .  .  His 
patience  is  not  infinite." 

"  It's  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  any  thin'  you  say  kin 
be  used  ag'in'  you,"  said  the  sheriff.  "Be  you  comin' 
along  peaceable?" 

"I'm  comin'  peaceable,"  said  Abner.  "If  God's  satis- 
fied—I be." 

Abner  Levens  was  locked  in  the  unreliable  jail  of  Cold- 
river  village,  and  a  watch  placed  over  him.  Those  who 
saw  him  marveled  at  his  demeanor;  Scattergood  Baines 
marveled  at  it,  for  it  was  not  the  demeanor  of  a  man — 
even  of  an  innocent  man — accused  of  a  crime  for  which 
the  penalty  was  death.  Abner  sat  upon  the  hard  bench 
and  looked  quietly,  even  placidly,  out  at  the  brightness  of 
day,  as  it  was  apparent  beyond  flimsy  iron  bars,  and  his 
expression  was  the  expression  of  contentment. 

He  had  not  demanded  the  benefit  of  legal  guidance;  he 
had  neither  affirmed  nor  denied  his  guilt;  indeed,  he  had 


208  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

uttered  no  word  since  the  door  of  the  jail  had  closed  behind 
him. 

Mary  Ware  spoke  to  the  young  man  through  the  win- 
dow of  the  jail  in  full  view  of  all  Coldriver. 

"You  didn't  do  it,  Abner.  I  know  you  didn't  do  it,"  she 
said,  so  that  all  might  hear,  "and  if  you  still  want  me, 
Abner,  like  you  said,  I'll  stick  by  you  through  thick  and 
thin." 

"Thank  ye,  Mary,"  Abner  replied.  "Now  I  guess  you 
better  go  away." 

"What  shall  I  do,  Abner— to  help  you?" 

"Nothin',  Mary.  Looks  like  God's  took  aholt  of  mat- 
ters. Better  let  him  finish  'em  in  his  own  way." 

That  was  all;  neither  Mary  Ware  nor  any  other  could 
get  more  out  of  him,  and  it  was  said  by  many  to  be  a 
confession  of  guilt. 

"Realizes  there  hain't  no  use  makin'  a  defense.  Cal- 
c'lates  on  takin'  his  medicine  like  a  man,"  said  Postmaster 
Pratt.  .  .  .  There  were  those  in  town  who  voiced  the  wish 
that  it  had  been  some  other  than  Abner  who  had  killed 
Asa  Levens.  "His  gun's  been  shot  recent,"  said  the 
sheriff.  It  was  the  final  gram  of  evidence  necessary  to 
complete  assurance  of  Abner's  guilt. 

Mary  Ware  was  observed  by  many  to  walk  directly 
from  the  jail  window  to  Scattergood  Baines's  hardware 
store,  and  there  to  stop  and  address  Scattergood,  who  sat 
barefooted,  and  therefore  in  deep  thought,  before  the  door 
of  his  place  of  business. 

"Mr.  Baines,"  said  Mary,  "you've  helped  other  folks. 
Will  you  help  me?" 

"Help  you  how,  Mary?    What  km  I  do  for  you?" 

"Abner  isn't  guilty,  Mr.  Baines  " 

"Tell  you  so?  ...  Abner  tell  you  so?" 

"No." 

"Um!  ...  'F  he  was  innocent,  wouldn't  he  deny  it, 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK     209 

Mary?"  He  did  not  permit  her  to  reply,  but  asked  an- 
other question.  "What  makes  you  say  he  hain't  guilty, 
Mary?" 

"Because  I  know  it,"  she  replied,  simply. 

"How  do  you  know  it,  Mary?  It's  mighty  hard  to 
know  anythin'  on  earth.  How  d'you  know?" 

"Because  I  know,"  said  Mary. 

"'Twon't  convince  no  jury." 

Mary  stood  in  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned 
away,  not  tearful,  not  despairing. 

"Hold  your  bosses,"  said  Scattergood.  "Kin  you 
think  of  anythin'  that  might  convince  a  stranger  that 
Abner  is  innocent?" 

Mary  considered.     "Asa  was  shot,"  she  said. 

Scattergood  nodded. 

"From  behind,"  said  Mary. 

Scattergood  nodded  again. 

"Asa  never  knew  who  shot  him,"  said  Mary,  and  again 
Scattergood  moved  his  head.  "If  Abner  had  killed  Asa," 
she  went  on,  "he  would  have  done  it  with  his  hands.  He 
would  have  wanted  Asa  to  know  who  was  killing  him." 

"Might  convince  them  that  knows  Abner,"  said  Scat- 
tergood, "but  the  jury  '11  be  strangers."  He  paused,  and 
asked,  suddenly,  "Why  did  you  let  Asa  Levens  come  to 
court  you?" 

"Because  I  hated  him,"  said  Mary. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Abner  say  anythin'  to  you?" 

"  He  said  God  had  taken  hold  of  matters  and  we'd  better 
let  him  finish  them." 

"When  God  takes  holt  of  human  affairs  he  mostly  uses 
human  bein's  to  do  the  rough  work,"  said  Scattergood. 

"Abner's  innocent,"  said  Mary,  stubbornly. 

"Mebby  so.  ...  Mebby  so." 

"Will  you  help  me  clear  him,  Mr.  Baines?" 

"I'll  help  you  find  out  the  truth,  Mary,  if  that  '11  keep 


210  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

you  satisfied.  Calculate  I'd  like  to  know  the  truth  myself. 
Had  a  look  at  Asa's  face  a-layin'  there  by  the  road,  and 
it  int'rested  me." 

"Did  you  see  that?"  Mary  asked,  with  sudden  excite- 
ment. 

"What?"  asked  Scattergood,  curiously. 

"The  mark.  .  .  .  Sometimes  it  showed  plain.  It  was  a 
mark  put  on  Asa  Levens's  face  as  a  warning  to  folks  that 
God  mistrusted  him." 

"When  he  was  dead  it  was  different,"  said  Scatter- 
good,  with  solemnity.  "It  said  he  had  r'iled  God  past 
endurance." 

Mary  nodded.  She  comprehended.  "The  truth  will 
do,"  she  said,  confidently. 

"Did  Abner  mention  last  Tuesday  to  you?"  Scatter- 
good  asked. 

"No." 

"Where  was  Asa  Levens  last  Tuesday?  Do  you  know, 
Mary?" 

"No." 

"Why  did  Abner  say  to  Asa  yesterday,  'It's  not  on 
account  of  her,  it's  on  account  of  her'?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"G'-by,  Mary.  G'-by."  It  was  so  Scattergood  al- 
ways ended  a  conversation,  abruptly,  but  as  one  became 
accustomed  to  it  it  was  neither  abrupt  nor  discourteous. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mary,  and  she  went  away  obediently. 

As  the  afternoon  was  stretching  toward  evening,  Scat- 
tergood sauntered  into  Sheriff  Ulysses  Watts's  barn. 

"Who's  feedin'  and  waterin'  Asa  Levens's  stock?"  he 


"Dummed  if  I  didn't  clean  forgit  'em,"  confessed  the 
sheriff. 

"Any  objection  if  I  look  after  'em,  Sheriff?  Any 
logical  objection?  Hoss  might  need  exercisin'.  Can't 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK     211 

never  tell.  Want  I  should  drive  up  and  do  what's 
needed  to  be  done?" 

"Be  much  'bleeged,"  said  Sheriff  Watts. 

Scattergood  drove  briskly  to  Asa  Levens's  farm,  watered 
and  fed  the  stock,  and  then  led  out  of  its  stall  Asa  Levens's 
favorite  driving  mare.  He  hitched  it  to  Asa  Levens's 
buggy  and  mounted  to  the  seat.  "Giddap,"  he  said  to 
the  mare,  and  dropped  the  reins  on  her  back.  She  started 
out  of  the  gate  and  turned  toward  town.  Scattergood  let 
the  reins  lie,  attempting  no  guidance.  At  the  next  four 
corners  the  mare  hesitated,  slowed,  and,  feeling  no  direc- 
tion from  her  driver,  turned  to  the  left.  Scattergood 
nodded  his  head. 

The  mare  trotted  on,  following  the  slowly  lifting  moun- 
tain road  for  a  matter  of  two  miles,  and  then  turned  again 
down  a  highway  that  was  little  more  than  a  tote  road. 
Half  a  mile  later  she  stopped  with  her  nose  against  the 
fence  of  a  shabby  farmhouse,  and  sagged  down,  as  is  the 
custom  of  horses  when  they  realize  they  are  at  their 
destination  and  have  a  rest  of  duration  before  them. 
Scattergood  alighted  and  fastened  her  to  the  fence. 

As  he  swung  open  the  gate  a  middle-aged  man  appeared 
in  the  door  of  the  house,  and  over  his  shoulder  Scattergood 
could  see  the  white  face  of  a  woman — staring. 

"Evenin',  Jed,"  said  Scattergood.  "Evenin',  Mis' 
Briggs." 

"Howdy,  Mr.  Baines?  Wa'n't  expectin'  to  see  you. 
What  fetches  you  this  fur  off'n  the  road?" 

"Sort  of  got  here  by  accident,  you  might  say.  Didn't 
come  of  my  own  free  will,  seems  as  though.  Kind  of  tired, 
Jed.  Mind  if  I  set  a  spell?  .  .  .  How's  the  cannin',  Mis' 
Briggs?" 

"Done  up  thutty  quarts  to-day,  Mr.  Baines,"  said  the 
young  woman,  who  was  Jed  Briggs's  wife,  a  woman  fifteen 
years  his  junior,  comely,  desirable,  vivid. 


212  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Um!  .  .  .  Got  a  boss  out  here.  Want  you  should 
both  come  and  look  her  over."  He  raised  himself  to 
his  feet,  and  was  followed  by  Jed  Briggs  and  his  wife 
to  the  fence. 

"Likely  mare,"  said  Scattergood,  blandly. 

Startlingly  Mrs.  Briggs  laughed,  shrilly,  unpleasantly, 
as  a  woman  laughs  in  great  fear. 

"Gawd!"  said  Jed  Briggs,  "it's—" 

"Yes,"  said  Scattergood,  gently.  "It's  Asa  Levens's 
mare.  Was  she  here  last  Tuesday?" 

"She  was  here  Tuesday,  Scattergood  Baines,"  said  Jed 
Briggs.  "  What's  the  meanin'  of  this?  " 

"I  knowed  she  was  somewheres  Tuesday,"  Scattergood 
said,  impersonally.  "  Didn't  know  where,  but  I  mistrusted 
she'd  been  to  that  place  frequent.  Jest  got  in  and  give  her 
her  head.  She  brought  me.  .  .  .  Asa  Levens  is  dead." 

"Dead!"  said  Jed  Briggs  in  a  hushed  voice. 

"He  deserved  to  die.  ...  He  deserved  to  die.  ...  He 
deserved  to  die  .  .  ."  the  young  woman  repeated  shrilly, 
hysterically. 

"Was  you  in  town  to  lodge  Tuesday  night,  Jed?" 

"Yes." 

"Asa  come  every  lodge  night,  Mis'  Briggs?" 

"He  always  came — when  Jed  was  here  and  when  Jed 
was  away.  .  .  .  When  Jed  was  here  he'd  jest  set  eyin'  me 
and  eyin'  me  ...  and  when  Jed  was  gone  he — he 
talked.  .  .  ." 

"Asa  owned  the  mortgage  on  the  place,"  said  Jed,  as 
if  that  explained  something.  Scattergood  nodded  com- 
prehension. 

"Keep  up  your  int'rest,  Jed?" 

"Year  behind.    Asa  was  threatenin'  foreclosure." 

"Threatened  to  throw  us  off'n  the  place  .  .  .  ag'in  and 
ag'in  he  threatened — and  we'd  'a'  starved,  'cause  Jed 
hain't  strong.  It's  me  does  most  of  the  work.  .  .  .  What 


HE  HELPS  WITH  THE  ROUGH  WORK    213 

we  got  into  this  place  is  all  we  got  on  earth  .  .  .  and  he 
threatened  to  take  it." 

"He  come  Tuesday  night,"  said  Scattergood,  as  a 
prompter  speaks. 

"Hush,  Lindy,"  said  Jed. 

"I  calc'late  you'd  best  both  of  you  talk,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "You'd  better  tell  me,  Jed,  jest  why  you  shot  Asa 
Levens." 

Lindy  Briggs  uttered  a  choking  cry  and  clutched  her 
husband;  Jed  Briggs  stared  at  Scattergood  with  hunted 
eyes. 

"  It  '11  be  best  for  you  to  tell.  I'm  standin'  your  friend, 
Jed  Briggs.  .  .  .  Better  tell  me  than  the  sheriff.  .  .  .  Asa 
Levens  was  here  Tuesday  night.  ..." 

"He  excused  us  from  payin'  our  int'rest,"  said  Jed,  and 
then  he,  too,  laughed  shrilly.  "Let  us  off  our  int'rest. 
Lindy  told  me  when  I  come  home.  Couldn't  hardly 
b'lievemyears."  Jed  was  talking  wildly,  pitifully.  "Lindy 
was  a-layin'  on  the  floor,  sobbin',  when  I  come  home,  and 
she  was  afeard  to  tell  me  why  Asa  let  us  off  our  int'rest, 
but  I  coaxed  her,  Mr.  Baines,  and  she  told  me — and  so  I 
shot  Asa  Levens  'cause  he  wa'n't  fit  to  live." 

Scattergood  nodded.  "Sich  things  was  wrote  on  Asa's 
face,"  he  said.  "But  what  about  Abner?  Wa'n't  goin' to 
let  him  suffer  f 'r  your  act,  Jed?  What  about  Abner?  " 

"Him  too.  .  .  .  All  of  that  blood.  ...  I  met  Abner  on 
the  road  of  a  Tuesday  when  I  wa'n't  quite  myself  with  all 
that  had  happened,  and  I  stopped  his  hoss  and  accused 
his  brother  to  his  face.  ...  He  listened  quiet-like,  and  then 
he  laughed.  That's  what  Abner  done,  he  laughed.  .  .  . 
When  I  heard  he  was  arrested  f'r  the  killin',  I  laughed. 
.  .  .  Back  in  Bible  times,  if  one  of  a  family  sinned,  God 
wiped  out  the  whole  of  the  kin.  .  .  ." 

Scattergood  was  thoughtful.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "Abner 
would  have  laughed.  That  was  like  Abner.  .  .  .  Now  I 


214  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

calc'late  you  and  Mis'  Briggs  better  fix  up  and  drive  to 
town  with  me.  .  .  .  Don't  be  afeard.  Right  '11  be  done, 
and  there  hain't  no  more  sufferin'  fallin'  to  your  share. 
.  .  .  You  been  doin'  God's  rough  work,  Jed,  and  I  don't 
calc'late  he  figgers  to  have  you  punished  f'r  it.  .  .  ." 

Next  morning  at  ten  by  the  clock  the  coroner  with  his 
jury  held  inquest  over  the  body  of  Asa  Levens,  and  over 
that  body  Jed  Briggs  and  Lindy,  his  wife,  told  their  story 
under  oath  to  ears  that  credited  the  truth  of  their  words 
because  they  knew  the  man  of  whom  those  words  were 
spoken.  The  jury  deliberated  briefly.  Its  verdict  was  in 
these  words: 

"We  find  that  Asa  Levens  came  to  his  death  by  act  of 
God,  and  that  there  are  found  no  reasons  for  further  in- 
vestigation into  this  matter." 

And  so  it  stands  in  the  imperishable  records  of  the  town- 
ship; legal  authority  recognized  the  right  of  Deity  to 
utilize  a  human  being  for  his  rougher  sort  of  work. 

"I  knew  it  was  something  like  this,"  Mary  Ware  said, 
clinging  openly  and  unashamed  to  Abner  Levens.  "It's 
why  he  couldn't  defend  himself." 

Abner  nodded.  "  My  flesh  and  blood  was  guilty.  Could 
I  free  myself  by  accusin'  the  husband  of  this  woman?  .  .  . 
I  calc'lated  God  meant  to  destroy  us  Levenses,  root  and 
branch.  ...  It  was  his  business,  not  mine." 

"I've  took  note,"  said  Scattergood,  "that  them  that 
was  most  strict  about  mindin'  their  own  business  was 
gen'ally  most  diligent  about  doin'  God's — all  unbeknownst 
to  themselves." 


CHAPTER  XI 

HE  INVESTS  IN   SALVATION 

FROM  Scattergood  Baines's  seat  on  the  piazza  of  his 
hardware  store  he  could  look  across  the  river  and 
through  a  side  window  of  the  bank.  Scattergood  was 
availing  himself  of  this  privilege.  As  a  member  of  the 
finance  committee  of  the  bank  Scattergood  was  natu- 
rally interested  in  that  enterprise,  so  important  to  the 
thrifty  community,  but  his  interest  at  the  moment  was 
not  exactly  official.  He  was  regarding,  speculatively,  the 
back  of  young  Ovid  Nixon,  the  assistant  cashier. 

His  concern  for  young  Ovid  was  sartorial.  It  is  true 
that  a  shiny  alpaca  office  coat  covered  the  excellent  shoul- 
ders of  the  boy,  but  below  that  alpaca  and  under  Scatter- 
good's  line  of  vision  were  trousers — and  carefully  stretched 
over  a  hanger  on  a  closet  hook  was  a  coat!  There  was 
also  a  waistcoat,  recognized  only  by  the  name  of  vest  in 
Coldriver,  and  that  very  morning  Scattergood  had  seen 
the  three,  to  say  nothing  of  a  certain  shirt  and  a  necktie 
of  sorts,  making  brave  young  Ovid's  figure. 

Ovid  passed  Scattergood's  store  on  the  way  to  his  work. 
Baines  had  regarded  him  with  interest. 

"Mornin',  Ovid,"  he  said. 

"Morning,  Mr.  Baines." 

"  Calc'late  to  be  wearin'  some  new  clothes,  Ovid?    Eh?  " 

Ovid  smiled  down  at  himself,  and  wagged  his  head. 

"Don't  recall  seein'  jest  sich  a  suit  in  Coldriver  before," 
said  Scattergood.    "Never  bought  'em  at  Lafe  AtwelTs, 
did  you?" 
15 


£16  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Got  'em  in  the  city,"  said  Ovid. 

"I  want  to  know!  Come  made  that  way,  Ovid,  or  was 
they  manufactured  special  fer  you?  " 

"Best  tailor  there  was,"  said  Ovid. 

"Must  'a'  come  to  quite  a  figger,  includin'  the  shirt  and 
necktie." 

"Forty  dollars  for  the  suit,"  Ovid  said,  proudly,  "and 
it  busted  a  five-dollar  bill  all  to  pieces  to  git  the  shirt  and 
tie." 

Scattergood  waggled  his  head  admiringly.  "Must  be 
a  satisfaction,"  he  said,  "to  be  able  to  afford  sich 
clothes." 

Ovid  looked  a  bit  doubtful,  but  Scattergood's  voice 
was  so  interested,  so  bland,  that  any  suspicion  of  irony 
was  allayed. 

"How's  your  ma?"  Scattergood  asked. 

"Pert,"  answered  Ovid.  "Ma's  spry.  Barrin'  a  siege 
of  neuralgy  in  the  face  off  and  on,  ma  hain't  complainin' 
of  nothin'." 

"Has  she  took  to  patronizin'  a  city  tailor,  too?"  Scat- 
tergood asked. 

"Mostly,"  said  Ovid,  "ma  makes  her  own." 

Scattergood  nodded. 

"Still  does  sewin'  for  other  folks?" 

" Ma  enjoys  it,"  said  Ovid,  defensively.  "  Says  it  passes 
the  time." 

"Passes  consid'able  of  it,  don't  it?  Passes  the  time 
right  up  till  she  gits  into  bed?" 

"Ma's  industrious." 

"It's  a  handsome  rig-out,"  said  Scattergood.  "Credit 
to  you;  credit  to  Coldriver;  credit  to  the  bank." 

Ovid  glanced  down  at  his  legs  to  admire  them. 

"Been  spendin'  Saturday  nights  and  Sundays  out  of 
town  for  a  spell,  hain't  you?  Seems  like  I  hain't  seen  you 
around." 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  217 

"Been  takin'  the  'three-o'clock'  down  the  line,"  said 
Ovid,  complacently. 

"Girl?"  said  Scattergood — one  might  have  noticed 
that  it  was  hopefully. 

"  Naw.  . .  .  Fellers.  We  go  to  the  opery  Saturday  nights 
and  kind  of  amuse  ourselves  Sundays." 

"Um!...G'-by,  Ovid." 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Baines." 

Coldriver  had  seen  tailor-made  clothing  before,  worn  by 
drummers  and  visitors,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  it  had  ever 
really  experienced  one  personally  adorning  one  of  its  own 
citizens.  A  few  years  before  it  had  been  currently  reported 
that  Jed  Lewis  was  about  to  have  such  a  suit  to  be  married 
in,  but  it  turned  out  that  the  major  part  of  the  sum  to  be 
devoted  to  that  purpose  actually  went  as  the  first  payment 
on  a  parlor  organ  and  that  Lafe  Atwell  purveyed  the  wed- 
ding garment.  This  denouement  had  created  a  breath  of 
dissatisfaction  with  Jed,  and  there  were  those  who  argued 
that  organs  were  more  wasteful  than  clothes,  because  you 
could  go  to  church  of  a  Sunday,  drop  a  dime  in  the  collec- 
tion plate,  and  hear  all  the  organ  music  a  body  needed  to 
hear. 

So  now  Scattergood  regarded  Ovid  speculatively  through 
the  window,  setting  on  opposite  mental  columns  Ovid's 
salary  of  nine  hundred  dollars  a  year  and  the  probable 
total  cost  of  tailor-made  clothes  and  weekly  trips  down  the 
line  on  the  "three-o'clock." 

Scattergood  was  interested  in  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  Coldriver.  Their  business  was  his  business.  But 
just  now  he  owned  an  especial  concern  for  Ovid,  because 
he,  and  he  alone,  had  placed  the  boy  in  the  bank  after 
Ovid's  graduation  from  high  school — and  had  watched 
him,  with  some  pleasure,  as  he  progressed  steadily  and 
methodically  to  a  position  which  Coldriver  regarded  as 
one  of  the  finest  it  was  possible  for  a  young  man  to  hold. 


218  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

To  be  assistant  cashier  of  the  Coldriver  Savings  Bank  was 
to  have  achieved  both  social  and  business  success. 

Scattergood  liked  Ovid,  had  confidence  in  the  boy,  and 
even  speculated  on  the  possibility  of  attaching  Ovid  to  his 
own  enterprises  as  he  had  attached  young  Johnnie  Bones, 
the  lawyer.  But  latterly  he  had  done  a  deal  of  thinking. 
In  the  first  place,  there  was  no  need  for  Mrs.  Nixon  to 
continue  to  take  in  sewing  when  Ovid  earned  nine  hundred 
a  year;  in  the  second  place,  Ovid  had  been  less  engrossed 
in  his  work  and  more  engrossed  by  himself  and  by  inter- 
ests "down  the  line." 

It  was  Scattergood's  opinion  that  Ovid  was  sound  at 
bottom,  but  was  suffering  from  some  sort  of  temporary 
attack,  which  would  have  its  run  ...  if  no  serious  compli- 
cation set  in.  Scattergood  was  watching  for  symptoms  of 
the  complication. 

Three  weeks  later  Ovid  took  the  "three-o'clock"  down 
the  line  of  a  Saturday  afternoon  and  failed  to  return  Sun- 
day night.  Indeed,  he  did  not  appear  Monday  night,  nor 
was  there  explanatory  word  from  him.  Mrs.  Nixon  could 
give  Scattergood  no  explanation,  and  she  herself,  in  the 
midst  of  a  spell  of  neuralgia,  was  distracted. 

Scattergood  fumbled  automatically  for  his  shoe  fasten- 
ings, but,  recalling  hi  time  that  he  was  seated  in  a  lady's 
parlor,  restrained  his  impulse  to  free  his  feet  from  re- 
straint in  order  that  he  might  clear  his  thoughts  by 
wriggling  his  toes. 

"Likely,"  he  said,  "it's  nothin'  serious.  Then,  ag'in, 
you  can't  tell.  .  .  .  You  do  two  things,  Mis'  Nixon:  go  out 
to  the  farm  and  stay  with  my  wife — Mandy  '11  be  glad  to 
have  you  .  .  .  and  keep  your  mouth  shet." 

"You'll  find  him,  Mr.Baines?  . . .  You'll  fetch  him  back 
tome?" 

"If  I  figger  he's  wuth  it,"  said  Scattergood. 

He  went  from  Mrs.  Nixon's  to  the  bank,  where  the 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  219 

finance  committee  were  gathering  to  discuss  the  situation 
and  to  discover  if  Ovid's  disappearance  were  in  any  man- 
ner connected  with  the  movable  assets  of  the  institution. 
There  were  Deacon  Pettybone,  Sam  Kettleman,  the 
grocer,  Lafe  Atwell,  Marvin  Towne — Scattergood  made 
up  the  full  committee. 

"How  be  you?"  Scattergood  said,  as  he  sat  in  a  chair 
which  uttered  its  protest  at  the  burden. 

"What  d'you  think?"  Towne  said.  "Got  any  notions? 
Noticed  anythin'  suspicious?" 

"Not  'less  it's  that  there  dude  suit  of  clothes,"  said 
Atwell,  with  some  acidity. 

"You  put  him  in  here,"  said  Kettleman  to  Scattergood. 

"Calc'late  I  did.  .  .  .  Hain't  found  no  reason  to  regret  it 
— not  yit.  Looks  to  me  like  the  fust  move's  to  kind  of  go 
over  the  books  and  the  cash,  hain't  it?  ...  You  fellers 
tackle  the  books  and  I'll  give  the  vault  an  overhaulin'." 

Scattergood  already  had  made  up  his  mind  that  if  Ovid 
had  allowed  any  of  the  bank's  funds  to  cling  to  him  when 
he  went  away  the  shortage  would  be  discoverable  in  the 
cash  reserve,  undoubtedly  in  a  lump  sum,  and  not  by  an 
examination  of  the  books.  It  was  his  judgment  that  Ovid 
was  not  of  a  caliber  to  plan  the  looting  of  a  bank  and  skill- 
fully to  hide  his  progress  by  a  falsification  of  the  books. 
That  required  an  imagination  that  Ovid  lacked.  No, 
Scattergood  said  to  himself,  if  Ovid  had  looted  he  had 
looted  clumsily — and  on  sudden  provocation.  .  .  .  There- 
fore he  chose  the  vault  for  his  peculiar  task. 

It  is  a  comparatively  easy  task  to  count  the  cash  reserve 
in  the  vault  of  so  small  a  bank.  Even  a  matter  of  thirty- 
odd  thousand  dollars  can  be  checked  by  one  man  alone  in 
half  an  hour,  for  the  small  silver  is  packed  away  in  rolls, 
each  roll  containing  a  stated  sum;  the  larger  silver  is 
bagged,  each  bag  bearing  a  label  stating  the  amount  of  its 
contents,  and  the  currency  is  wrapped  in  packages  con- 


220  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

taining  even  sums.  .  .  .  Scattergood  went  to  work.  He 
went  over  the  cash  carefully,  and  totaled  the  sums  he  set 
down  on  a  bit  of  paper.  .  .  .  He  found  the  amount  to  be 
inadequate  by  exactly  three  thousand  dollars. 

"Huh!"  said  Scattergood  to  himself.  "Ovid  hain't  no 
hawg." 

One  might  have  thought  the  young  man  had  dropped 
in  Scattergood's  estimation.  It  would  have  been  as  easy 
to  make  away  with  twenty  thousand  dollars  as  with  three 
thousand,  and  the  penalty  would  not  have  been  greater. 

"Kind  of  a  childish  sum,"  said  Scattergood  to  him- 
self. "'Tain't  wuth  bustin'  up  a  life  over — not  three 
thousand.  .  .  .  Calc'late  Ovid  hain't  bad — not  at  a  figger 
of  three  thousand.  Jest  a  dum  fool — him  and  his  tailor- 
made  clothes.  ..." 

In  the  silence  of  the  vault  Scattergood  removed  his 
shoes  and  sat  on  a  pile  of  bagged  silver.  His  pudgy  toes 
worked  busily  while  he  reflected  upon  the  sum  of  three 
thousand  dollars  and  what  the  theft  of  that  amount  might 
indicate.  "Looked  big  to  Ovid,"  he  said  to  himself. 
Then,  "Jest  a  dum  young  eediot. . . ." 

He  replaced  the  cash  and,  carrying  his  shoes  in  his  hand, 
left  the  vault  and  closed  it  behind  him.  His  four  fellow 
committeemen  were  sweating  over  the  books,  but  all 
looked  up  anxiously  as  Scattergood  appeared.  He  stood 
looking  at  them  an  instant,  as  if  in  doubt. 

"What  d'you  find?"  asked  Atwell. 

"She  checks,"  said  Scattergood. 

The  four  drew  a  breath  of  relief.  Scattergood  wished 
that  he  might  have  joined  them  in  the  breath,  but  there 
was  no  relief  for  him.  He  had  joined  his  fortunes  to  those 
of  Ovid  Nixon — and  to  those  of  Ovid's  mother;  had  be- 
come particeps  criminis,  and  the  requirements  of  the  situa- 
tion rested  heavily  upon  him. 

It  was  past  midnight  before  the  laborious  four  finished 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  221 

their  review  of  the  books  and  joined  with  Scattergood  in 
giving  Ovid  a  clean  bill  of  health. 

"Didn't  think  Ovid  had  it  in  him  to  steal,"  said  Kettle- 
man. 

"Hain't  got  no  business  stirrin'  us  up  like  this  for 
nothing"  said  Atwell,  acrimoniously. 

"Maybe,"  suggested  Scattergood,  "Ovid's  come  down 
with  a  fit  of  suthinV 

"Hope  it's  painful,"  said  Lafe.  "I'm  a-goin'  home  to 
bed." 

"What  '11  we  do?"  asked  Deacon  Pettybone. 

"Nothin',"  said  Scattergood,  "till  some  doin'  is  called 
fur.  Calc'late  I  better  slip  on  my  shoes.  Might  meet  my 
wife."  Mandy  Scattergood  was  doing  her  able  best  to 
break  Scattergood  of  his  shoeless  ways. 

"Guess  we'll  let  Ovid  git  through  when  he  comes  back," 
said  Deacon  Pettybone,  harshly,  making  use  of  the  moun- 
tain term  to  denote  discharge.  There  no  one  is  ever  dis- 
charged, no  one  ever  resigns.  The  single  phrase  covers 
both  actions — the  individual  "gets  through." 

"I  always  figgered,"  said  Scattergood,  urbanely,  "that 
it  was  allus  premature  to  git  ahead  of  time.  .  .  .  I'm  cal- 
c'latin'  on  runnin'  down  to  see  what  kind  of  a  fit  of  ailment 
Ovid's  come  down  with." 

Next  morning,  having  in  the  meantime  industriously 
allowed  the  rumor  to  go  abroad  that  Ovid  was  suddenly 
ill,  Scattergood  took  the  seven-o'clock  for  points  south. 
He  did  not  know  where  he  was  going,  but  expected  to  pick 
up  information  on  that  question  en  route.  His  method 
of  reaching  for  it  was  to  take  a  seat  on  a  trunk  in  the  bag- 
gage car. 

The  railroad,  Scattergood's  individual  property  and  his 
greatest  step  forward  in  his  dream  for  the  development  of 
the  Coldriver  Valley,  was  but  a  year  old  now.  It  was 
twenty-four  miles  long,  but  he  regarded  it  with  an  affec- 


222  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

tion  only  second  to  his  love  for  his  hardware  store — and 
he  dealt  with  it  as  an  indulgent  parent.  .  .  .  Pliny  Pickett, 
once  stage  driver,  was  now  conductor,  and  wore  with  os- 
tentation a  uniform  suitable  to  the  dignity,  speaking  of 
"my  railroad"  largely. 

"Hear  Ovid  Nixon's  sick  down  to  town,"  said  Pliny. 

"Sich  a  rumor's  come  to  me." 

"Likely  at  the  Mountain  House?"  ventured  Pliny. 

"Shouldn't  be  s'prised." 

"That's  where  he  mostly  stopped,"  said  Pliny. 

"Um! . . .  Wonder  what  ailment  Ovid  was  most  open  to 
git?" 

Scattergood  and  Pliny  talked  politics  for  the  rest  of  the 
journey,  and,  as  usual,  Pliny  received  directions  to  "talk 
up"  certain  matters  to  his  passengers.  Pliny  was  one  of 
Scattergood's  main  channels  to  public  opinion.  At  the 
junction  Scattergood  changed  for  the  short  ride  to  town, 
and  there  he  carried  his  ancient  valise  up  to  the  Mountain 
House,  where  he  registered. 

"Young  feller  named  Nixon — Ovid  Nixon — stoppin' 
here?"  he  asked  the  clerk. 

"Checked  out  Monday  night." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Monday  night,  eh?  Expect  him  back?  I 
was  calc'latin'  on  meetin'  him  here  to-day." 

"He  usually  gets  in  Saturday  night.  . . .  You  might  ask 
Mr.  Pillows,  over  there  by  the  cigar  case.  He  and  Nixon 
hang  out  together." 

Scattergood  scrutinized  Mr.  Pillows  and  did  not  like 
the  appearance  of  that  young  man;  not  that  he  looked 
especially  vicious,  but  there  was  a  sort  of  useless,  lazy, 
sponging  look  to  him.  Baines  set  him  down  as  the  sort  of 
young  man  who  would  play  Kelly  pool  with  money  his 
mother  earned  by  doing  laundry,  and,  in  addition,  cata- 
logued him  as  a  "saphead."  He  acted  accordingly. 

Walking  lightly  across  the  lobby,  he  stopped  just  behind 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  223 

Pillows,  and  then  said,  with  startling  sharpness,  "Where's 
Ovid  Nixon?" 

The  agility  with  which  Mr.  Pillows  leaped  into  the  air 
and  descended,  facing  Scattergood,  did  some  little  to  raise 
him  in  the  estimation  of  Coldriver's  first  citizen.  Nor  did 
he  pause  to  study  Scattergood.  One  might  have  said  that 
he  lit  in  mid-career,  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  and  was  out 
of  the  door  before  Scattergood  could  extend  a  pudgy  hand 
to  snatch  at  him.  Scattergood  grinned. 

"Figgered  he'd  be  a  mite  skittish,"  he  said  to  the  girl 
behind  the  cigar  counter. 

"I  thought  something  sneaking  was  going  on,"  said  the 
young  woman,  as  if  to  herself. 

Scattergood  gave  her  his  attention.  She  had  red  hair, 
and  his  respect  for  red  hair  was  a  notable  characteristic. 
There  was  a  freckle  or  two  on  her  nose,  her  eyes  were 
steady,  and  her  mouth  was  firm — but  she  was  pretty. 
Scattergood  continued  to  regard  her  in  silence,  and  she, 
not  disconcerted,  studied  him. 

"You  and  me  is  goin'  to  eat  dinner  together  this  noon," 
he  said,  presently. 

"Business  or  pleasure?"    Her  rejoinder  was  tart. 

"Why?" 

"If  it's  business,  we  eat.  If  it's  pleasure,  you've 
stopped  at  the  wrong  cigar  counter." 

"I  knowed  I  was  goin'  to  take  to  you,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "You  got  capable  hair.  .  .  .  This  here  was  to  be 
business." 

"Twelve  o'clock  sharp,  then,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  the  clock.  It  lacked  half  an  hour  of 
noon. 

"G'-by,"  he  said,  and  went  to  a  distant  corner,  where 
he  seated  himself  and  stared  out  of  the  window,  trying 
to  imagine  what  he  would  do  if  he  were  Ovid  Nixon, 
and  what  would  make  him  appropriate  three  thousand 


224  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

dollars.  ...  At  twelve  o'clock  he  lumbered  over  to  the 
cigar  case.  "C'm  on,"  he  said.  "Hain't  got  no  time  to 
waste." 

The  girl  put  on  her  hat  and  they  walked  out  together. 

"What's  your  name?"  Scattergood  asked. 

"Pansy  O'Toole You're  Scattergood  Baines— that's 

why  I'm  here.  ...  I  don't  eat  with  every  man  that  oozes 
out  of  the  woods." 

Scattergood  said  nothing.  It  was  a  fixed  principle  of 
his  to  let  other  folks  do  the  talking  if  they  would.  If  not 
he  talked  himself — deviously.  Seldom  did  he  ask  a  direct 
question  regarding  any  matter  of  importance,  and  so 
strong  was  habit  that  it  was  rare  for  him  to  put  any  query 
directly.  If  he  wanted  to  know  what  time  it  was  he  would 
lead  up  to  the  subject  by  mentioning  sun  dials,  or  calen- 
dars, or  lunar  eclipses,  and  so  approach  circuitously  and 
by  degrees,  until  his  victim  was  led  to  exhibit  his  watch. 
Pansy  did  not  talk. 

"See  lots  of  folks,  standin'  back  of  that  counter  like  you 
do?"  he  began. 

"Lots." 

"Urn! .  .  .  From  lots  of  towns?  .  .  .  From  Boston?" 

"Yes." 

"From  Tupper  Falls?" 

"Some." 

"From  Coldriver?" 

"If  you  want  to  know  if  I  know  Ovid  Nixon,  why 
don't  you  ask  right  out?" 

Scattergood  looked  at  her  admiringly. 

"I  know  him,"  she  said. 

"Like  him?" 

"He's  a  nice  boy."  Scattergood  liked  the  way  she  said 
"nice."  It  conveyed  a  fine  shade  of  meaning,  and  he 
thought  more  of  Ovid  in  consequence.  "But  he's  awful 
young — and  green." 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  225 

"Calc'late  he  is— calc'late  he  is." 

"He  needs  somebody  to  look  after  him,"  she  said, 
sharply. 

"Thinkin'  of  undertakin'  the  work?  .  .  .  Favor  under- 
takin'  it?" 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment  speculatively.  "I  might 
do  worse.  He'd  be  decent  and  kind — and  I've  got  brains. 
I  could  make  something  of  him. ..." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Ovid's  up  and  made  somethin'  of  himself." 

"What?"    She  spoke  quickly,  sharply. 

"A  thief." 

Scattergood  glanced  sidewise  to  study  the  effect  of  this 
curt  announcement,  but  her  face  was  expressionless,  rather 
too  expressionless. 

"  That's  why  you're  looking  for  him?  " 

"Yes." 

"To  put  him  in  jail?" 

"What  would  you  calc'late  on  doin'  if  you  was  me?" 

"Before  I  did  anything,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I'd  make  up 
my  mind  if  he  was  a  thief,  or  if  he  just  happened  to  take 
whatever  it  was  he  has  taken.  .  .  .  I'd  be  sure  he  was  bad. 
If  I  made  up  my  mind  he'd  just  been  green  and  a  fool — 
well,  I'd  see  to  it  he  never  was  that  kind  of  a  fool  again. 
. .  .  But  not  by  jailing  him." 

"Um! .  .  .  Three  thousand's  a  lot  of  money." 

"Mr.  Baines,  I  see  men  and  other  kinds  of  men  from 
behind  my  cigar  counter — and  the  kind  of  a  man  Ovid 
Nixon  could  be  is  worth  more  than  that." 

"Mebby  so.  ...  Mebby  so.  But  if  I  was  investin'  in 
Ovid,  I'd  want  some  sort  of  a  guarantee  with  him.  Would 
you  be  willin'  to  furnish  the  guarantee?  And  see  it  was 
kept  good?" 

"If  you  mean  what  I  think  you  do — yes,"  she  said, 
steadily.  "  I'd  marry  Ovid  to-morrow." 

"Himbein'athief?" 


226  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Girls  that  sell  cigars  aren't  so  select,"  she  said,  a  trifle 
bitterly. 

"Pansy,"  said  Scattergood,  and  he  patted  her  back  with 
a  heavy  hand  that  was,  nevertheless,  gentle,  "if  'twan't 
for  Mandy,  that  I've  up  and  married  already,  I  calc'late 
I'd  try  to  cut  Ovid  out. . . .  But  then  I've  kinder  observed 
that  every  woman  you  meet  up  with,  if  she's  bein'  crowded 
by  somethin'  hard  and  mean,  strikes  you  as  bein'  better  'n 
any  other  woman  you  ever  see.  I  call  to  mind  a  number. 
.  .  .  Ovid  some  attached  to  you,  is  he?" 

"He's  never  made  love  to  me,  if  that's  what  you 
mean." 

"Think  you  could  land  him — for  his  good  and  yourn?" 

"I— why,  I  think  I  could,"  she  said. 

"Is  it  a  bargain?" 

"What?" 

"For,  and  in  consideration  of  one  dollar  to  you  in  hand 
paid,  and  the  further  consideration  of  you  undertakin'  to 
keep  an  eye  on  him  till  death  do  you  part,  I  agree  to  keep 
him  out  of  jail — and  without  nobody  knowin'  he  was  ever 
any  thin'  but  honest — and  a  dum  fool." 

She  held  out  her  hand  and  Scattergood  took  it. 

"What's  got  Ovid  into  this  here  mess?" 

"Bucket  shop,"  she  said. 

"Um! .  .  .  They  been  lettin'  him  make  a  mite  of  money 
— up  to  now,  eh?  So  he  calc'lated  on  gittin'  rich  at  one 
wallop.  Kind  of  led  him  along,  I  calc'late,  till  they  got 
him  to  swaller  hook,  line,  and  sinker  .  .  .  and  then  they 
up  and  jerked  him  floppin'  on  to  the  bank.  .  .  .  Who  owns 
this  here  bucket  shop?" 

"Tim  Peaney." 

"Perty  slick,  is  he?" 

"Slick  enough  to  take  care  of  Ovid  and  sheep  like  him 
— but  I  can't  help  thinking  he's  a  sheep  himself." 

"He  got  Ovid's  three  thousand,  or  Ovid  Vd  'a'  come 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  227 

back  Sunday  night.  .  .  .  Got  to  find  Ovid — and  got  to  git 
that  money  back." 

"I've  an  idea  Ovid's  right  in  town.  If  you're  suspicious, 
and  keep  your  eyes  open,  you  can  tell  when  something's 
going  on.  That  Pillows  man  you  scared  knows,  and 
Peaney  acts  like  the  man  of  mystery  in  one  of  the  kind  of 
plays  we  get  around  here.  It's  breaking  out  all  over  them. 
.  .  .  I'll  bet  they've  fleeced  Ovid,  and  now  they're  hiding 
him — to  save  themselves  more  than  him." 

"And  Ovid's  the  kind  that  would  let  himself  be  hid," 
said  Scattergood.  "Do  you  and  me  work  together  on  this 
job?" 

"If  I  can  help— " 

"You  bet  you  kin.  ...  We'll  jest  let  Ovid  lie  hid 
while  we  kind  of  maneuver  around  Peaney  some — com- 
mencin'  right  soon.  Peaney  ever  aspire  to  take  you  to 
dinner?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"Git  organized  to  go  with  him  to-night " 

It  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  five  o'clock  when  Mr. 
Peaney  came  into  the  Mountain  House  and  stopped  at 
the  cigar  counter  for  cigarettes. 

"Any  more  friendly  to-day,  sister?"  he  asked. 

Pansy  smiled  and  leaned  across  the  case.  "  The  trouble 
'with  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "is  that  you're  a 
piker." 

"Piker— me?" 

"Always  after  small  change." 

"Just  show  me  some  real  money  once,"  he  said,  flam- 
boyantly. 

"It  would  scare  you,"  she  said. 

"Show  me  some — you'd  see  how  it  would  scare  me." 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  musingly,  "if  you  have  the 
nerve?  " 


228  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"For  what?"  he  said,  with  quickened  interest. 

"To  go  after  a  wad  that  I  know  of?" 

"Say,"  he  said,  his  eyes  narrowing,  his  face  assuming  a 
look  of  cupidity  and  cunning,  "do  you  know  something? 
If  you  do,  come  on  out  where  we  can  eat  and  talk.  If 
there's  anything  in  it  I'll  split  with  you." 

"I  know  you  will,"  she  said,  promptly.  "Fifty-fifty. 
...  In  an  hour,  at  Case's  restaurant." 

At  the  hour  set  Pansy  and  Mr.  Peaney  found  a  corner 
table  in  the  little  restaurant,  and  when  they  had  ordered 
Peaney  asked,  "Well,  what  you  got  on  your  mind?" 

"A  big  farmer  from  the  backwoods — with  a  trunkful  of 
money.  Don't  know  how  he  got  it.  Must  have  sold  the 
family  wood  lot,  but  he's  got  it  with  him  .  .  .  and  he  came 
down  to  invest  it." 

"No." 

"Honest  Injun." 

"How  much?" 

"From  what  he  said  it's  more  than  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

"Lead  me  to  him." 

"He'll  need  some  playing  with — thinks  he's  sharp.  .  .  . 
But  I've  been  talking  to  him.  Guess  he  took  a  Uking  to 
me.  Wanted  to  take  me  to  dinner — and  he  did." 

"Say!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Peaney,  in  admiration,  "I  had 
you  sized  all  wrong." 

"It  '11  take  nerve,"  Pansy  said. 

"It's  what  I've  got  most  of." 

"He's  no  Ovid  Nixon." 

"Eh?  .  .  .  What  d'you  know  about  Ovid  Nixon?" 

"  I  know  he  was  too  green  to  burn  and  that  you  and  k« 
were  together  a  lot Isn't  that  enough?" 

He  smiled  complacently,  seeing  a  compliment.  "He 
was  easy — but  he  got  to  be  a  nuisance." 

"Making  trouble?" 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  229 

"No Scared." 

"I  see"  she  nodded,  wisely.  "Lost  more  than  he  had, 
was  that  it?  And  then  helped  himself  to  what  he  didn't 
have?" 

"I'm  not  supposed  to  know  where  it  came  from.  None 
of  my  business." 

"Of  course  not" — her  tone  was  rank  flattery.  "Wants 
you  to  take  care  of  him.  Threatens  to  squeal.  I  know. 
...  So  you've  got  to  hide  him  out." 

"You  are  a  wise  one.    Where'd  you  get  it?" 

"I  didn't  always  sell  cigars  for  a  living.  ...  He  isn't  apt 
to  break  loose  and  spoil  this  thing,  is  he?" 

"Too  scared  to  show  his  face.  ...  If  we  can  pull  this 
across  he  can  show  it  whenever  he  wants  to — I'll  be 
gone." 

So  Ovid  Nixon  was  here — in  town.  It  was  as  she  had 
reasoned.  If  here,  he  was  somewhere  in  the  building  Mr. 
Peaney  occupied  as  a  bucket  shop. 

"It's  understood  we  divide — it  I  introduce  my  farmer 
to  you — and  show  you  how  to  get  it. " 

"You  bet,  sister." 

"  Have  you  any  money?  Nothing  makes  people  so  con- 
fident and  trustful  as  the  sight  of  money?" 

"I've  got  it,"  he  said,  complacently. 

"Then  you  come  to  the  hotel  this  evening.  .  .  .  Just  do 
as  I  say.  I'll  manage  it.  In  a  couple  of  days — if  you  have 
the  nerve  and  do  exactly  what  I  say — you  can  forget 
Ovid  Nixon  and  take  a  long  journey." 

Two  hours  later,  when  Peaney  entered  the  lobby  of  the 
Mountain  House,  he  saw  a  very  fat,  uncouthly  dressed 
backwoodsman  talking  to  Pansy.  She  signaled  him  and 
he  walked  over  nonchalantly. 

"Mr.  Baines,"  said  Pansy,  "here's  the  gentleman  I 
was  speaking  about.  He  can  advise  you.  He's  a  broker, 
and  everybody  trusts  him."  She  lowered  her  voice.  "  He's 


230  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

very  rich,  himself.  Made  it  in  stocks.  I  guess  he  knows 
what's  going  on  right  in  Mr.  Rockefeller's  private  office. 
.  .  .  You  couldn't  do  better  than  to  talk  business  with 
him.  .  .  .  Mr.  Peaney,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Very  glad  to  meet  you,  sir,"  said  Peaney,  in  his  grand- 
est manner. 

"Much  obleeged,  and  the  same  to  you,"  said  Scatter- 
good,  beaming  his  admiration.  "Hear  tell  you're  one  of 
them  stock  brokers." 

"Yes,  sir.    That's  my  business." 

"  Guess  you  and  me  had  better  talk  some.  I'm  a-lookin' 
for  somebody  to  gimme  advice  about  investin'.  I  got  a 
sight  of  money  to  invest  some'eres — a  sight  of  it.  Rail- 
road stocks,  or  suthin'.  Calc'late  on  makin'  myself  well 
off." 

"  I'm  not  taking  any  new  clients,  Mr.  Baines.  I'm  very 
busy  indeed."  He  glanced  at  Pansy.  "But  if  you  are  a 
friend  of  Miss  O'Toole's  possibly  I  can  break  my  rule. 
.  .  .  About  how  much  do  you  wish  to  invest?" 

"  Oh,  say  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand.  Figger  on  doublin' 
it  up,  or  mebby  better  'n  that.  Folks  does  it.  I've  read 
about  'em." 

"  To  be  sure  they  do — if  they  are  properly  advised.  But 
one  has  to  know  the  stock  market — like  a  book." 

"And  Mr.  Peaney  knows  it  like  a  book,"  said  Pansy. 

Peaney  lowered  his  voice.  "  I  have  agents — men  in  the 
offices  of  great  corporations,  and  they  telegraph  me  secrets. 
I  know  when  a  big  stock  manipulation  is  coming  off — and 
my  clients  profit  by  it." 

"Don't  call  to  mind  none,  right  now,  do  you?" 

Mr.  Peaney  looked  about  him  cautiously.  "I  do,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice.  "My  man  in  the  office  of  the  presi- 
dent of  the  International  Utilities  Company  wired  me 
to-day  that  to-morrow  they  were  going  to  shove  the  stock 
up  five  points." 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  231 

"Um!  .  .  .  Don't  understand.    What's  that  mean?" 

"It  means,  if  you  invested  a  thousand  dollars  on  margin 
and  the  stock  went  up  five  points,  you  would  get  your 
money  back,  and  five  thousand  dollars  besides." 

"Say!  ...  I  knowed  they  was  money  to  be  made  easy. 
.  .  .  But  I  hain't  no  fool.  I  don't  know  you,  mister." 
Scattergood  became  very  cunning.  "I  don't  know  this 
here  girl  very  well — though  I  kinder  took  to  her  at  the 
first.  I'm  a-goin'  cautious.  I  might  git  smouged.  .  .  . 
What  I  aim  to  do  is  to  go  careful  till  I  git  on  to  the  ropes 
and  know  who  to  trust.  .  .  .  Hain't  goin'  to  put  all  my 
money  in  at  the  first  go-off.  No,  siree.  Goin'  to  try  it 
first  kind  of  small,  and  if  it  shows  all  right,  why,  then  I'm 

a-goin'  in  right  up  to  my  neck Folks  back  home  would 

figger  I  was  pretty  slick  if  I  come  home  with  a  million 
dollars." 

"That's  the  smart  way,"  Pansy  said,  with  a  little  gri- 
mace at  Peaney.  "Why  don't  you  try  this  International 
Utilities  investment,  to-morrow — say  for  a  thousand  dol- 
lars? ...  If  you — come  out  right,  then  you'll  know  you 
can  trust  Mr.  Peaney,  and  the  next  time  he  has  some  real 
information  you  can  jump  right  in  and  make  a  fortune." 

"Sounds  mighty  reasonable.  I  kin  afford  to  lose  a 
thousand — charge  it  up  to  investigatin*.  .  .  .  My,  jest 
think  of  gainin'  five  thousand  dollars  jest  by  settin'  down 
and  takin'  it." 

"It's  the  way  money  is  made,"  said  Mr.  Peaney. 

"How'd  I  know  I'd  git  the  money?"  Scattergood  asked, 
with  sudden  doubt. 

"Why,  you'd  see  it,"  said  Pansy,  with  another  grimace 
at  Peaney.  "You  put  your  thousand  dollars  on  the 
counter,  and  Mr.  Peaney  puts  five  thousand  right  beside 
it.  You  see  it  all  the  time.  If  you  come, out  right,  you 
just  pick  up  the  money  and  walk  off." 

"No!  .  .  .  Say!    That's  slick,  hain't  it?    Wisht  you'd 


232  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

come  along  when  we  try,  Miss  O'Toole.  Somehow  I'd 
feel  easier  in  my  mind  if  you  was  along.  .  .  .  See  you  early 
in  the  mornin'.  .  .  .  Got  to  git  to  bed,  now.  Always  aim 
to  be  in  bed  by  nine.  . . .  G'  night." 

"Say,"  expostulated  Mr.  Peaney,  "do  you  expect  me 
to  hand  over  five  thousand  to  that  hick?  He  might  walk 
off  with  it." 

"He  might  walk  off  with  the  hotel.  ...  I  told  you  you 
hadn't  any  nerve.  .  .  .  Why,  give  that  fat  man  a  taste  of 
easy  money  and  you  couldn't  drive  him  away.  Let  him 
sleep  all  night  with  five  thousand  dollars  that  came  as 
easy  as  that,  and  you  couldn't  drive  him  away  from  your 
office  with  a  gun.  .  .  .  Besides,  I'm  here  to  take  care  of 
him  ...  or  are  you  a  quitter?" 

"Twenty  thousand  dollars,"  Mr.  Peaney  said  to  him- 
self. "Then  I'll  show  you  how  good  my  nerve  is.  Bring 
on  your  fat  man.  .  .  ." 

Scattergood  was  up  at  his  accustomed  early  hour,  and 
before  breakfast  had  examined  Mr.  Peaney's  premises 
from  front  and  rear.  The  bucket  shop  was  in  a  small 
wooden  building.  The  ground  floor  consisted  of  a  large 
office  where  was  visible  the  big  blackboard  upon  which 
stock  quotations  were  posted,  and  of  a  back  room  whose 
interior  was  invisible  from  the  street.  A  corner  of  the 
main  office  had  been  partitioned  off  as  a  private  retreat 
for  Mr.  Peaney.  What  was  upstairs  Scattergood  could 
not  tell  with  accuracy,  but  he  judged  it  to  be  a  single  room 
or  perhaps  two  small  rooms. ...  It  was  here,  he  felt  certain, 
Ovid  was  secreting  himself,  and,  with  a  certain  grimness, 
he  hoped  the  young  man  was  not  happy  in  his  surroundings. 

"I  calc'late,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that  Ovid,  bein'  shet 
up  with  his  own  figgerin's  and  imaginin's,  hain't  in  no 
jubilant  frame  of  mind.  .  .  .  Meanest  punishment  you  kin  • 
give  a  feller  is  to  lock  him  in  for  a  spell  with  himself,  callin' 
himself  names.  ..." 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  233 

When  the  office  opened,  Scattergood  and  Pansy  were  at 
the  door,  where  Mr.  Peaney  welcomed  them,  not  without 
a  certain  uneasiness  at  the  prospect  of  intrusting  his 
money  to  Scattergood. 

"Let's  git  started  right  off,"  Scattergood  said.  "I'd 
like  to  tell  it  to  the  folks  how  I  gained  five  thousand  dollars 
in  one  mornin' — jest  doin*  nothin'  but  settin'." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Peaney.  "You  buy  a  thousand 
shares  of  International  Utilities^on  a  one-point  margin. 
.  . .  Sign  this  order  slip." 

"And  you  set  out  five  thousand  dollars  right  where  I 
kin  see  it,"  said  Scattergood,  with  anxious  fatuity. 

"Certainly.  .  .  .  Certainly." 

Mr.  Peaney  deposited  on  his  desk  a  bundle  of  currency 
which  Scattergood  counted  meticulously,  and  then  laid 
his  own  thousand  beside  it. 

"  It's  as  good  as  yours,  right  now,"  said  Pansy. 

"We'll  stay  right  here  in  my  private  room,"  said  Peaney. 
"We  can  watch  the  board  from  here,  and  nobody  will 
disturb  us." 

"I'd  kinder  like  to  have  folks  see  me  makin'  all  this 
money,"  complained  Scattergood,  but  he  acquiesced,  and 
presently  quotations  commenced  to  be  posted  on  the  board. 
International  Utilities  opened  at  seventy-six.  Presently 
they  advanced  half  a  point,  lingered,  and  returned  to  their 
original  position. 

"Kind  of  slow,  hain't  it?"  Scattergood  said,  a  worried 
look  beginning  to  appear  on  his  face.  "Maybe  them  folks 
hain't  goin'  to  do  what  you  said." 

Mr.  Peaney  went  out  into  the  back  room,  and  presently 
the  ticker  began  to  click  furiously.  International  Utilities 
leaped  a  whole  point.  In  ten  minutes  they  ascended  a 
hah*  point,  and  at  every  advance  Scattergood  figured  his 
profit,  and  hesitated  as  to  whether  or  not  it  would  be  best 
to  close  the  transaction  then  and  there,  but  Pansy  cajoled 


234  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

him  skillfully,  making  evident  to  Mr.  Peaney  the  power  of 
her  influence  over  the  old  fellow. 

Scattergood  was  the  picture  of  the  fatuous  countryman. 
He  was  childlike  in  his  ignorance  and  in  his  delight.  He 
exclaimed,  he  slapped  his  thigh,  he  laughed  aloud  at  each 
advance.  "It's  a-comin'.  Next  time  she  h'ists,  the 
money's  mine.  .  .  .  And  'tain't  been  two  hours.  What  '11 
the  folks  say  to  that,  eh?  Me  doin'  nothin'  but  settin' 
here  and  makin'  five  thousand  dollars  in  two  hours.  .  .  . 
Nothin'  short  of  a  million's  goin*  to  satisfy  me — and  when 
I  get  that  million,  Mr.  Peaney,  I'm  a-goin'  to  show  you 
how  much  obleeged  I  be.  I'm  a-goin'  to  git  you  a  whole 
box  of  them  cigars.  Pansy  knows  which  ones.  They  come 
at  a  nickel  apiece.  .  .  ." 

Then  .  .  .  then  International  Utilities  touched  eighty- 
one.  Scattergood  slapped  Peaney  on  the  back.  He 
laughed.  He  acted  like  a  boy  with  a  new  jackknife. 

"  It's  all  mine  now,  hain't  it?  Mine?  Fair  and  square? 
It's  my  money — every  penny  of  it?" 

"It's  yours,  Mr.  Baines.  And  I  congratulate  you.  I 
myself  have  made  a  matter  of  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"  Wisht  I'd  put  up  every  cent  I  got.  .  .  .  But  there  '11  be 
other  chances,  won't  they?  I  kin  git  in  ag'in?  " 

"Of  course.    To-morrow.    Possibly  this  afternoon." 

"And  I  kin  take  this  now?"  Scattergood  had  his 
hands  on  the  six  thousand  dollars;  was  handling  it 
greedily. 

"It's  yours,"  said  Mr.  Peaney. 

"Calc'lated  it  was,"  said  Scattergood.  "Calc'lated  it 
was. . . .  Now  where's  Ovid?" 

Mr.  Peaney  stared.  Something  had  happened  suddenly 
to  this  countryman.  He  was  no  longer  fatuous,  futile. 
His  face  was  no  longer  foolish  and  good-natured;  it  was 
granite — it  was  the  face  of  a  man  with  force,  and  the  skill 
to  use  that  force. 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  235 

"Where's  Ovid?"  he  demanded  again. 

"Ovid  .  .  .  Ovid  who?    I  don't  know  any  Ovid." 

He  became  suddenly  alarmed  and  blocked  the  way  to 
the  door.  Scattergood's  eyes  twinkled.  "If  I  was  you 
I  wouldn't  git  in  the  way  to  any  extent.  Feelin'  the  way 
I  do  I  sh'u'dn't  be  s'prised  if  I  got  a  certain  amount  of 
satisfaction  out  of  tramplin'  over  you." 

"Hey,  you  put  that  money  back.  .  .  ." 

"Mine,  hain't  it?    Gained  it  lawful,  didn't  I?" 

He  walked  slowly  toward  the  door,  and  Mr.  Peaney, 
still  barring  the  way,  found  himself  sitting  suddenly  in  an 
adjacent  corner.  Scattergood  walked  calmly  past  and 
made  for  the  back  room. 

"Stop  him!"  shouted  Mr.  Peaney.  "Don't  let  him  go 
in  there." 

But  Scattergood  proceeded  methodically,  leaving  no  less 
than  three  of  Mr.  Peaney's  employees*  in  recumbent  pos- 
tures along  his  line  of  march.  .  .  .  Pansy  followed  him 
closely,  pale,  but  resolute.  He  ascended  the  stairs,  and, 
finding  the  door  at  the  top  fastened  from  within,  he  re- 
moved it  bodily  by  the  application  of  a  calk-studded 
boot.  .  .  .  Ovid  Nixon  was  olisclosed  cowering  against  the 
wall,  pale,  terrified. 

"Howdy,  Ovid?"  said  Scattergood,  as  if  he  had  met  the 
young  man  casually  on  the  street.  "How  d'you  find 
yourself?" 

Ovid  remained  mute. 

"Fetched  a  friend  to  see  you,  Ovid,"  said  Scattergood. 
"This  is  her."  He  pushed  Pansy  forward.  "Find  her 
better  comp'ny  than  you  been  havin'  recent,"  he  said. 
"She's  got  suthin'  fer  you.  .  .  .  When  she  gits  through 
visitin'  with  you,  I  calc'late  to  have  a  word  to  say.  .  .  . 
Here,  Pansy,  you  kin  give  this  here  to  Ovid."  He  counted 
off  three  thousand  dollars  before  the  young  man's  staring 
eyes. 


236  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"I — I'm  glad  I'm  found,"  Ovid  said,  tremulously.  "I 
was  making  up  my  mind  to  give  myself  up.  .  .  ." 

"What  fer?"  said  Scattergood. 

"You  know — you  know  I  took  three  thousand  dollars 
out  of  the  vault." 

"Vault  don't  show  nothin'  short,"  said  Scattergood, 
waggling  his  head.  "Counted  it  myself.  Did  look  for  a 
minute  like  they  was  three  thousand  short,  but  I  kind  of 
put  that  amount  in,  and  then  counted  ag'in,  and,  sure 
enough,  it  was  all  there.  .  .  ." 

Ovid  stared,  took  a  step  forward.  "You  mean.  .  .  . 
What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Baines?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  step  outside  of  what  used  to  be  the  door," 
said  Scattergood,  "and  let  Pansy  do  the  explamin'.  .  .  . 
What  I  do  after  that  depends  a  heap  on  ...  Pansy.  ..." 

Scattergood  went  outside  and  waited,  his  eyes  on  the 
stairs,  but  nobody  offered  to  ascend.  He  could  hear  the 
conversation  within,  but  it  was  only  toward  the  end  that 
it  interested  him. 

"Ovid,"  said  Pansy,  "you've  been  hanging  around  my 
counter  a  good  deal — and  asking  me  to  dinners,  and  to  go 
driving  on  Sunday.  What  for?" 

"Because — because  I  liked  you  awful  well,  Pansy,  but 
now — now  that  I've  done  this — " 

"If  you  hadn't  done  this?  If  you  had  made  money 
instead  of  losing  it?" 

"I — oh,  what's  the  use  of  talking  about  it?  I  wanted 
you  should  marry  me,  Pansy. " 

"But  you  don't  want  me  any  more?" 

"Nobody  'd  marry  me — knowing  what  you  know." 

"Ovid,"  said  Pansy,  sharply,  "there's  nothing  wrong 
with  you  except  that — you  haven't  enough  brains  all  by 
yourself.  You  need  to  be  looked  after  .  .  .  and  I'm  going 
to  do  it." 

"Looked  after?" 


HE  INVESTS  IN  SALVATION  237 

"Ovid  Nixon,  do  you  like  me  well  enough  to  marry 
me?" 

it  T » 

"Do  you?    Yes  or  no  ...  quick!" 

"Yes." 

"Then  ask  me,"  said  Pansy. 

Presently  the  three  emerged  into  the  street  from  the 
deserted  offices  of  Mr.  Peaney.  Scattergood  Baines  held 
in  his  hands  two  thousand  dollars  in  bills,  representing  net 
profit  on  the  transaction.  He  regarded  the  money  with  a 
frown. 

"Somethin's  got  to  be  done  to  you  to  make  you  fit  to 
tetch,"  he  said  to  it. 

Out  of  an  adjoining  store  came  a  young  woman  in  a 
queer  bonnet,  with  a  tambourine  in  her  hand.  "Huh!" 
said  Scattergood,  and  stopped  her.  "Salvation  Army, 
hain't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Hold  it  out,"  he  said,  motioning  to  the  tambourine. 

She  obeyed,  and  he  dropped  into  it  the  package  of  bills, 
and,  looking  into  her  startled,  almost  frightened  eyes,  he 
said:  "It  come  from  fools  to  sharpers.  ...  I  calc'late 
nothin'  but  a  leetle  salvation  '11  kill  the  cussedness  in  it. 
.  .  .  Make  it  do  all  the  salvagin'  it  kin.  .  .  ." 

Whereupon  he  passed  on,  leaving  a  bewildered  woman 
to  stare  after  him. 

Next  morning,  Scattergood,  accompanied  by  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ovid  Nixon,  alighted  from  the  train  in  Coldriver. 
Deacon  Pettybone  happened  to  be  standing  on  the  depot 
platform. 

"Make  you  acquainted  with  Mis'  Nixon,"  said  Scatter- 
good,  with  gravity.  "She's  what  Ovid  come  down  with. 
. .  .  Can't  blame  a  young  feller  for  forgittin'  work  a  day  or 
two  when  he's  got  him  sich  a  wife.  .  .  .  Deacon,  this  here 
girl's  performed  a  service  for  Coldriver.  Increased  our 


238  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

population  by  two — her  and  Ovid.  And,  Deacon,  Ovid 
hain't  the  fust  man  that  ever  was  made  so's  he  was  wuth 
countin'  in  the  census  by  marryin'  him  a  wife. .  .  ." 

"Dummed  if  she  hain't  got  red  hair,"  was  the  deacon's 
astonished  contribution.  It  was  as  near  to  congratula- 
tions as  the  deacon  ever  came. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    SON    THAT    WAS    DEAD 

"  T^HE  ox  is  dressed  and  hung,"  said  Pliny  Pickett,  with 

I  the  air  of  a  man  announcing  that  the  country  has 
been  saved  from  destruction. 

"Uh!  .  .  .  How  much  'd  he  dress?"  asked  Scattergood 
Baines,  moving  in  his  especially  reinforced  armchair  until 
it  creaked  its  protest. 

"Eight  hunderd  and  forty-three — accordin'  to  Newt 
Patterson's  scales." 

"Which  hain't  never  been  knowed  to  err  on  the  side 
of  overweight,"  said  Scattergood,  dryly. 

"The  boys  has  got  the  oven  fixed  for  roastin'  him,  and 
the  band  gits  in  on  the  mornin'  train,  failin'  accidents, 
and  the  dec'rations  is  up  in  the  taown  hall — 'n'  now  we  kin 
git  ready  for  a  week  of  stiddy  rain." 

"They's  wuss  things  than  rain,"  said  Scattergood, 
"though  at  the  minnit  I  don't  call  to  mind  what  they  be." 

"Deacon  Petty  bone's  north  mowin'  is  turned  into  a 
baseball  grounds,  and  everybody  in  town  is  buyin'  buntin' 
to  wrap  their  harnesses,  and  Kittleman's  fetched  in  more  'n 
five  bushels  of  peanuts,  and  every  young  un  in  taown  '11 
be  sick  with  the  stummick  ache." 

"Feelin'  extry  cheerful  this  mornin',  hain't  ye?  Kind 
of  more  hopeful-like  than  I  call  to  mind  seein'  you  fer 
some  time." 

"Never  knowed  no  big  celebration  to  come  off  like  it 
was  planned,  or  'thout  somebody  gittin'  a  leg  busted,  or 
the  big  speaker  fergittin'  what  day  it  was,  or  suthin'. 


240  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Seems  like  the  hull  weight  of  this  here  falls  right  on 
to  me." 

"Responsibility,"  said  Scattergood,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye,  "is  a  tumble  thing  to  bear  up  under.  But  nothin' 
hain't  happened  yit,  and  folks  is  dependin'  on  you,  Pliny, 
to  see  't  nothin'  mars  the  party." 

"It  '11  rain  on  to  the  pe-rade,  and  the  ball  game  '11  bust 
up  in  a  fight,  and  pickpockets  '11  most  likely  git  wind  of 
sich  a  big  gatherin'  and  come  swarmin'  in.  ...  Scatter- 
good,"  he  lowered  his  voice  impressively,  "it's  rumored 
Mavin  Newton's  a-comin'  back  for  this  here  Old  Home 
Week." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Mavin  Newton.  .  .  .  Um!  .  .  .  Who  up  and 
la'nched  that  rumor?" 

"Everybody's  a-talkin'  it  up.  Folks  says  he's  sure  to 
come,  and  then  what  in  tunket  '11  we  do?  The  sheriff's 
goin'  to  be  busy  handlin'  the  crowds  and  the  traffic  and 
sich,  and  he  won't  have  no  time  fer  extry  miscreants,  seems 
as  though.  .  .  .  Folks  is  a-comin'  from  as  fur  's  Denver, 
and  we  don't  want  no  town  criminal  brought  to  justice 
in  the  middle  of  it  all.  Though  Mavin's  father  'd  be  glad 
to  see  his  son  ketched,  I  calc'late." 

"Hain't  interviewed  Mattie  Strong  as  ree-gards  her 
feelin's,  have  ye?" 

"I  wonder,"  said  Pliny,  with  intense  interest,  "if  Mat- 
tie's  ever  heard  from  him?  But  she's  that  close-mouthed." 

"'Tain't  a  common  failin'  hereabouts,"  said  Scatter- 
good.  "How  long  since  Mavin  run  off?" 

"Eight  year  come  November." 

"The  night  before  him  and  Mattie  was  goin'  to  be 
married." 

"Uh-huh!  Takin'  with  him  that  there  fund  the  Congo 
church  raised  fer  a  new  organ,  and  it's  took  them  eight 
year  to  raise  it  over  ag'in." 

"And  in  the  meantime,"  said  Scattergood,  "I  calc'late 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  241 

the  tunes  off  of  the  old  organ  has  riz  about  as  pleasin'  to 
heaven  as  if  'twas  new.  Squeaks  some,  I'm  told,  but  I 
figger  the  squeaks  gits  kind  of  filtered  out,  and  nothin' 
but  the  true  meanin'  of  the  tunes  ever  gits  up  to  Him." 
Scattergood  jerked  a  pudgy  thumb  skyward. 

"More'n  two  hunderd  dollars,  it  was — and  Mavin 
treasurer  of  the  church.  Old  Man  Newton  he  resigned  as 
elder,  and  hain't  never  set  foot  in  church  from  that  day  to 
this." 

"Bein'  moved,"  said  Scattergood,  "more  by  cantanker- 
ousness  than  grief." 

"I'll  venture,"  said  Pliny,  "that  there'll  be  more 'n 
five  hunderd  old  residents  a-comin'  back,  and  where  in 
tunket  we're  goin'  to  sleep  'em  all  the  committee  don't 
know." 

"Urn!  ...  G'-by,  Pliny,"  said  Scattergood,  suddenly, 
and  Pliny,  recognizing  the  old  hardware  merchant's  cus- 
tomary and  inescapable  dismissal,  got  up  off  the  step  and 
cut  across  diagonally  to  the  post  office,  where  he  could  air 
his  importance  as  a  committeeman  before  an  assemblage  as 
ready  to  discuss  the  events  of  the  week  as  he  was  himself. 

It  was  a  momentous  occasion  in  the  life  of  Coldriver; 
a  gathering  of  prodigals  and  wanderers  under  home  roofs; 
a  week  set  aside  for  the  return  of  sons  and  daughters  and 
grandchildren  of  Coldriver  who  had  ventured  forth  into 
the  world  to  woo  fortune  and  to  seek  adventure.  Prep- 
arations had  been  in  the  making  for  months,  and  the 
village  was  resolved  that  its  collateral  relatives  to  the  re- 
motest generation  should  be  made  aware  that  Coldriver 
was  not  deficient  in  the  necessary  "git  up  and  git"  to 
wear  down  its  visitors  to  the  last  point  of  exhaustion. 
Pliny  Pickett,  chairman  of  numerous  committees  and 
marshal  of  the  parade,  predicted  it  would  "lay  over"  the 
Centennial  in  Philadelphia. 

The  greased  pig  was  to  be  greasier;  the  barbecued  ox 


242  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

was  to  be  larger;  the  band  was  to  be  noisier;  the  speeches 
were  to  be  longer  and  more  tiresome;  the  firemen's  races 
and  the  ball  games,  and  the  fat  men's  race,  and  the  frog 
race,  and  the  grand  ball  with  its  quadrilles  and  Virginia 
reels  and  "Hull's  Victory"  and  "Lady  Washington's 
Reel"  and  its  "Portland  Fancy,"  were  all  to  be  just  a 
little  superior  to  anything  of  the  sort  ever  attempted  in 
the  state.  Numerous  septuagenarians  were  resorting  to 
St.  Jacob's  oil  and  surreptitious  prancing  in  the  barn,  to 
"soople"  up  their  legs  for  the  dance.  It  was  to  be  one  of 
those  wholesome,  generous,  splendid  outpourings  of  neigh- 
borliness  and  good  feeling  and  wonderful  simplicity  and 
kindliness,  such  as  one  can  meet  with  nowhere  but  in  the 
remoter  mountain  communities  of  old  New  England, 
where  customs  do  not  grow  stale  and  no  innovation  mars. 
If  any  man  would  discover  the  deep  meaning  of  the  word 
"welcome,"  let  him  attend  such  a  Home-coming! 

Though  Coldriver  did  not  realize  it,  the  impetus  toward 
the  Home-coming  Week  had  been  given  by  Scattergood 
Baines.  He  had  seen  in  it  a  subsidence  of  old  grudges  and 
the  birth  of  universal  better  feeling.  He  had  set  the  idea 
in  motion,  and  then,  by  methods  of  indirection,  of  which 
he  was  a  master,  he  had  urged  it  on  to  fulfillment. 

Scattergood  went  inside  the  store  and  leaned  upon  the 
counter,  taking  no  small  pleasure  in  a  mental  inventory  of 
his  heterogeneous  stock.  He  had  completed  one  side,  and 
arrived  at  the  rear,  given  over  to  stoves  and  garden  tools, 
when  a  customer  entered.  Scattergood  turned. 

"Mornin',  Mattie,"  he  said.  "What  kin  I  help  ye  to 
this  time?" 

"I — I  need  a  tack  hammer,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Got  three  kinds:  plain,  with  claws,  and  them  patent 
ones  that  picks  up  tacks  by  electricity.  I  hold  by  them 
and  kin  recommend  'em  high." 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  243 

"  I'll  take  one,  then,"  said  Mattie;  but  after  Scattergood 
wrapped  it  up  and  gave  her  change  for  her  dollar  bill,  she 
remained,  hesitating,  uncertain,  embarrassed. 

"Was  they  suthin'  besides  a  tack  hammer  you  wanted, 
Mattie.  "  Scattergood  asked,  gently. 

"I —  No,  nothing."  Her  courage  had  failed  her,  and 
she  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Mattie!" 

She  stopped. 

"Jest  a  minute,"  said  Scattergood.  "Never  walk  off 
with  suthin'  on  your  mind.  Apt  to  give  ye  mental 
cramps.  What  was  that  there  tack  hammer  an  excuse 
for  comin'  here  fer?" 

"Is  it  true  that  he's  coming  back,  like  the  talk's  goin' 
around?" 

"I  calc'late  ye  mean  Mavin.    Mean  Mavin  Newton?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"What  if  he  did?"  said  Scattergood. 

"I  don't  know Oh,  I  don't  know." 

"Want  he  should  come  back?" 

"He—    If  he  should  come—" 

"Uh-huh!"  said  Scattergood.  "Calc'late  I  kin  appre- 
ciate your  feelin's.  Treated  you  mighty  bad,  didn't  he?" 

"He  treated  himself  worse,"  said  Mattie,  with  a  little 
awakening  of  sharpness. 

"So  he  done.  So  he  done.  .  .  .  Um! .  .  .  Eight  year  he's 
been  gone,  and  you  was  twenty  when  he  went,  wa'n't  ye? 
Twenty?" 

"Yes." 

"Hain't  never  had  a  feller  since?" 

She  shook  her  head.    "I'm  an  old  maid,  Mr.  Baines." 

"  I've  heard  tell  of  older,"  he  said,  dryly.  "  Wisht  you'd 
tell  me  why  you  let  sich  a  scalawag  up  and  ruin  your  life 
fer  ye?" 

"He  wasn't  a  scalawag — till  then." 


244  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"You  hain't  thinkin'  he  was  accused  of  suthin'  he  didn't 
do?" 

"He  told  me  he  took  the  money.  He  came  to  see  me 
before  he  ran  away." 

"Do  tell!"  This  was  news  to  Scattergood.  Neither 
he  nor  any  other  was  aware  that  Mavin  Newton  had 
seen  or  been  seen  by  a  soul  after  the  commission  of 
his  crime. 

"He  told  me,"  she  repeated,  "and  he  said  good-by.  .  .  . 
But  he  never  told  me  why.  That's  what's  been  hurtin' 
me  and  troublin'  me  all  these  years.  He  didn't  tell  me  why 
he  done  it,  and  I  hain't  ever  been  able  to  figger  it  out." 

"Una!  .  .  .  Why  he  done  it?    Never  occurred  to  me." 

"  It  never  occurred  to  anybody.  All  they  saw  was  that 
he  took  their  organ  money  and  robbed  the  church.  But 
why  did  he  do  it?  Folks  don't  do  them  things  without 
reason,  Mr.  Baines." 

"He  wouldn't  tell  you?" 

"I  asked  him — and  I  asked  him  to  take  me  along  with 
him.  I'd  'a'  gone  gladly,  and  folks  could  'a'  thought  what 
they  liked.  But  he  wouldn't  tell,  and  he  wouldn't  have 
me,  and  I  hain't  heard  a  word  from  him  from  that  day  to 
this.  .  .  .  But  I've  thought  and  figgered  and  figgered  and 
thought — and  I  jest  can't  see  no  reason  at  all." 

"Took  it  to  run  away  with — fer  expenses,"  said  Scatter- 
good. 

"There  wasn't  anything  to  run  away  from  until  after 
he  took  it.  I  know.  Whatever  'twas,  it  come  on  him 
suddin.  The  night  before  we  was  together — and — and  he 
didn't  have  nothin'  on  his  mind  but  plans  for  him  and 
me  .  .  .  and  he  was  that  happy,  Mr.  Baines!  ...  I  wisht 
I  could  make  out  what  turned  a  good  man  into  a  thief — 
all  in  a  minute,  as  you  might  say.  It's  suthin',  Mr.  Baines, 
suthin'  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  always  I  got  a  feelin'  like 
I  got  a  right  to  know." 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  245 

"Yes,"  said  Scattergood,  "seems  as  though  you  had  a 
right  to  know." 

"Folks  is  passin'  it  about  that  he's  comin'  home.  Is 
there  any  truth  into  it?  " 

"I  calc'late  it's  jest  talk,"  said  Scattergood.  "Nobody 
knows  where  he  is." 

"He'll  come  sometime,"  she  said. 

"And  you  calc'late  to  keep  on  waitin'  fer  him  to 
come?" 

"Until  I'm  dead — and  after  that,  if  it's  allowed." 

"I  wisht,"  said  Scattergood,  "there  was  suthin'  I  could 
do  to  mend  it  all." 

"Nobody  kin  ever  do  anythin',"  she  said.  .  .  .  "But  if 
he  should  venture  back,  calc'latin'  it  had  all  blown  over 
and  been  forgot! .  .  .  His  father  'd  see  him  put  in  prison — 
and  I — I  couldn't  bear  that,  it  seems  as  though." 

"There's  a  bad  thing  about  borrowin'  trouble,"  said 
Scattergood.  "No  matter  how  hard  you  try,  you  can't 
ever  pay  it  back.  Wait  till  he  croaks,  and  then  do  your 
worryin'." 

"I've  got  a  feelin'  he's  goin'  to  come,"  she  said,  and 
turned  away  wearily.  "I  thought  maybe  you'd  know. 
That's  why  I  came  in,  Mr.  Baines." 

"G'-by,  Mattie.  G'-by.  Come  ag'in  when  you  feel 
that  way,  and  you  needn't  to  buy  no  tack  hammer  for  an 
excuse." 

Scattergood  slumped  down  in  his  chair  on  the  store's 
piazza,  and  began  pulling  his  round  cheeks  as  if  he  had 
taken  up  with  some  new  method  of  massage.  It  was  a 
sign  of  inward  disturbance.  Presently  a  hand  stole  down- 
ward to  the  laces  of  his  shoes — a  gesture  purely  automatic 
— and  in  a  moment,  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  sigh  of 
relief,  his  broad  feet  were  released  from  bondage  and  his 
liberty-loving  toes  were  wriggling  with  delight.  Any  resi- 
dent of  Coldriver  passing  at  that  moment  could  have  told 


246  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

you  Scattergood  Baines  was  wrestling  with  some  grave 
difficulty. 

"It  stands  to  reason,"  said  he  to  himself,  "that  ever'- 
body  has  a  reason  for  ever'thing,  except  lunatics,  and 
lunatics  think  they  got  a  reason.  Now,  Mavin  he  wa'n't 
no  lunatic.  He  wouldn't  have  stole  church  money  and 
run  off  the  night  before  his  weddin'  jest  to  exercise  his 
feet.  They  hain't  no  reason,  as  I  recall  it,  why  he  needed 
two  hunderd  dollars.  Unless  it  was  to  git  married  on. 
.  .  .  And  instid  of  that,  it  busted  up  the  weddin'.  I  cal- 
c'late  that  matter  wa'n't  looked  into  sharp  enough  .  .  . 
and  eight  years  has  gone  by.  Lots  of  grass  grows  up  to 
cover  old  paths  in  eight  year." 

A  small  boy  was  passing  at  the  moment,  giving  an  imi- 
tation of  a  cowboy  pursuing  Indians.  Scattergood  called 
to  him. 

"Hey,  bub!  Scurry  around  and  see  if  ye  kin  find  Mar- 
vin Preston.  Uh-huh !  'F  ye  see  him,  tell  him  I'm  a-settin' 
here  on  the  piazza." 

The  small  boy  dug  his  toes  into  the  dust  and  disappeared 
up  the  street.  Presently  Marvin  Preston  appeared  in 
answer  to  the  indirect  summons. 

"How  be  ye,  Marvin?    Stock  doin'  well?" 

"Fust  class.  See  the  critter  they're  figgerin'  on  barbe- 
cuin'?  He's  a  sample." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Lived  here  quite  a  spell,  hain't  you,  Marvin? 
Quite  a  spell?" 

"Born  here,  Scattergood." 

"Know  lots  of  folks,  don't  ye?  Got  acquainted  con- 
sid'able  in  town  and  the  surroundin'  country?" 

"A  feller  'u'd  be  apt  to  in  fifty-five  year." 

"Call  to  mind  the  Meggses  that  used  to  live  here?" 

"Place  next  to  the  Newton  farm.    Recollect  'em  well." 

"Lived  next  to  Ol'  Man  Newton,  eh?  Forgot  that." 
Scattergood  had  not  forgotten  it,  but  quite  the  contrary. 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  247 

His  interest  in  the  Meggses  was  negligible;  his  purpose  in 
mentioning  them  was  to  approach  the  Newtons  circui- 
tously  and  by  stealth,  as  he  always  approached  affairs  of 
importance  to  him. 

"Know  'em  well?  Know  'em  as  well's  you  knowed  the 
Newtons?" 

"Not  by  no  means.  I've  knowed  Ol'  Man  Newton 
better  'n  'most  anybody,  seems  as  though." 

"Um! .  .  .  Le's  see.  .  .  .  Had  a  son,  didn't  he?" 

"Run  off  with  the  organ  money,"  said  Marvin,  shortly. 

"Remembered  suthin'  about  him.    Quite  a  while  back." 

"Eight  year.  Allus  recall  the  date  on  account  of  sellin' 
a  Holstein  heifer  to  Avery  Sutphin  the  mornin'  follerin' . . . 
fer  cash." 

"Him  that  was  dep'ty  sheriff?" 

"That's  the  feller." 

"Um! .  .  .  Ever  git  a  notion  what  young  Mavin  up  and 
stole  that  money  fer?  " 

"  Inborn  cussedness,  I  calc'late." 

"Allus  seemed  to  me  like  Ol'  Man  Newton  might  'a' 
made  restitution  of  that  there  money,"  said  Scattergood, 
tentatively. 

"H'm!"  Marvin  cleared  his  throat  and  glanced  up 
the  street.  "Seein's  how  it's  you,  I  dunno  but  what  I 
kin  tell  you  suthin'  you  hain't  heard,  nor  nobody  else. 
Young  Mavin  sent  that  there  money  back  to  his  father 
in  a  letter  to  be  give  to  the  church — and  the  ol'  man 
burned  it.  That's  what  he  up  and  done.  Two  hunderd 
good  dollars  went  up  in  smoke.  Said  they  was  crimes  that 
was  beyond  restitution  or  forgiveness,  and  robbin'  the 
House  of  God  was  one  of  'em." 

"Um!  .  .  .  Now,  Marvin,  I'd  be  mighty  curious  to  learn 
if  the  ol'  man  got  that  information  from  God  himself  or 
if  it  come  out  of  his  own  head.  ...  No  matter,  I  calc'late. 

'Twan't  credit  with  the  church  young  Mavin  was  after 
17 


248  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

when  he  sent  back  the  money,  and  the  Lord  he  knows  the 
money  come,  if  the  organ  fund  never  did  find  it  out." 

"Guess  I'll  take  a  walk  down  to  Spackles's  and  look 
over  the  steer.  They  tell  me  he  dressed  clost  to  nine 
hunderd.  Hope  they  contrive  to  cook  him  through  and 
through.  Never  see  a  barbecued  critter  yit  that  was 
done.  .  .  .  Folks  is  beginnin'  to  git  here.  Guess  they  won't 
be  a  spare  bedroom  in  town  that  hain't  full  up." 

Scattergood  pulled  on  his  shoes  and,  leaving  his  store 
to  take  care  of  itself,  walked  up  the  road,  turned  across 
the  mowing  which  had  been  metamorphosed  into  an  ath- 
letic field,  trusted  his  weight  to  the  temporary  bridge 
across  the  brook,  and  scrambled  up  the  bank  to  the  great 
oven  where  the  steer  was  to  be  baked,  and  where  the  potato 
hole  was  ready  to  receive  twenty  bushels  of  potatoes  and 
the  arch  was  ready  to  receive  the  sugar  vat  in  which  two 
thousand  ears  of  corn  were  to  be  steamed.  Pliny  Pickett 
was  in  charge,  with  Ulysses  Watts,  sheriff,  and  Coroner 
Bogle  as  assistants.  They  had  fired  up  already,  and  were 
sitting  blissfully  by  in  the  blistering  heat,  bragging  about 
the  sort  of  meal  they  were  going  to  purvey,  and  speculat- 
ing on  whether  the  imported  band  would  play  enough, 
and  how  the  ball  games  would  come  out,  and  naming 
over  the  folks  who  were  expected  to  arrive  from  distant 
parts. 

"This  here  town  team  hain't  what  it  was  ten  year  ago," 
said  the  sheriff.  "In  them  days  the  boys  knowed  how  to 
play  ball.  There  was  me  'n'  Will  Pratt  and  Pliny  here  'n' 
Avery  Sutphin,  that  was  sheriff  'fore  I  was.  .  .  ." 

"What  ever  become  of  Avery?"  Pliny  asked. 

"Went  West.  Heard  suthin'  about  him  a  spell  back, 
but  don't  call  to  mind  what  it  was.  Wonder  if  he'll  be 
comin'  back  with  the  rest?" 

"Dunno.  Think  there's  anythin'  in  the  rumor  that 
Mavin  Newton's  comin'?" 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  249 

"Hope  not,"  said  the  sheriff,  assuming  an  official  look 
and  feeling  of  the  suspender  to  which  was  affixed  his 
badge  of  office.  "Don't  want  to  have  no  arrestin'  to  do 
durin'  Old  Home  Week." 

"Calc'late  to  take  him  in  if  he  comes?" 

"Duty,"  said  Sheriff  Watts,  "is  duty." 

"When  it  hain't  a  pleasure,"  said  Scattergood.  "Recall 
what  place  Avery  Sutphin  went  to?" 

"Seems  like  it  was  Oswego.  Some'eres  out  West  like 
that." 

"Wisht  all  the  town  'u'd  quit  traipsin'  over  here,"  said 
Pliny.  "Never  see  sich  curiosity.  They  needn't  to  think 
they're  goin'  to  git  a  look  at  the  critter  while  he's  a-cookin'. 
No,  siree.  Nobody  but  this  here  committee  sees  him  till 
he's  took  out  final,  ready  fer  eatin'." 

All  that  day  visitors  arrived  in  town.  They  drove  in, 
came  by  train  and  by  stage — and  walked.  There  was  no 
house  whose  ready  hospitality  was  not  taxed  to  its 
capacity,  and  the  ladies  in  charge  of  the  restaurant  in 
Masonic  Hall  became  frantic  and  sent  out  hysterical 
messengers  for  more  food  and  more  help.  Every  house 
was  dressed  in  flags  and  bunting.  Even  Deacon  Petty- 
bone,  reputed  to  be  the  "nearest"  inhabitant  of  the 
village,  flew  one  small  cotton  flag,  reputed  to  have  cost 
fifteen  cents,  from  his  front  stoop.  The  bridge  was  so 
covered  with  red,  white,  and  blue  as  to  quite  lose  its 
identity  as  a  bridge  and  to  become  one  of  the  wonders  of 
the  world,  to  be  talked  about  for  a  decade.  As  one  looked 
up  the  street  a  similarity  of  motion,  almost  machinelike, 
was  apparent.  It  was  an  endless  shaking  of  hands  as  old 
friend  met  old  friend  joyously. 

"Bet  ye  don't  know  who  I  be?" 

"I'd  'a'  know'd  you  in  Chiny.  You're  Mort  Whit- 
taker's  wife — her  that  was  Ida  Janes.  Hair  hain't  so  red 
as  what  it  was." 


250  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"You've  took  on  flesh  some,  but  otherwise —  'Member 
the  time  you  took  me  to  the  dance  at  Tupper  Falls — " 
"An'  we  got  mired  crossin' — " 
"An'  Sam  Kettleman  come  in  a  plug  hat. " 
This  conversation,  or  its  counterpart,  was  repeated 
wherever  resident  and  visitor  met.  Old  days  lived  again. 
Ancient  men  became  middle-aged,  and  middle-aged  women 
became  girls.  The  past  was  brought  to  life  and  lived 
again.  Sometimes  it  was  brought  to  life  a  bit  tediously, 
as  when  old  Jethro  Hammond,  postmaster  of  Coldriver 
twenty  years  ago,  made  a  speech  seventy  minutes  long, 
which  consisted  in  naming  and  locating  every  house  that 
existed  in  his  day,  and  describing  with  minute  detail  who 
lived  in  it  and  what  part  they  played  in  the  affairs  of  the 
community.  But  the  audience  forgave  him,  because  it 
knew  what  a  good  time  he  was  having.  .  .  .  Houses  were 
invaded  by  perfect  strangers  who  insisted  in  pointing 
out  the  rooms  in  which  they  were  born  and  in  which  they 
had  been  married,  and  in  telling  the  present  proprietors 
how  fortunate  they  were  to  live  in  dwellings  thus  blessed. 
The  band  arrived  and  met  with  universal  satisfaction, 
though  Lafe  Atwell  complained  that  he  hadn't  ever  see  a 
snare  drummer  with  whiskers.  But  their  coats  were  red, 
with  gorgeous  frogs,  and  their  trousers  were  sky  blue,  with 
gold  stripes,  and  the  drum  major  could  whirl  his  baton 
in  a  manner  every  boy  in  town  would  be  imitating  with  the 
handle  of  the  ancestral  broom  for  months  to  come.  .  .  . 
Through  it  all  Scattergood  Baines  sat  on  the  piazza  and 
beamed  upon  the  world,  and  rejoiced  in  the  goodness 
thereof. 

Only  one  resident  took  no  part  in  the  holiday  making, 
and  that  was  Old  Man  Newton,  who  had  closed  his  house, 
drawn  the  blinds,  and  refused  to  make  himself  visible 
while  the  celebration  lasted.  He  took  a  savage  pleasure 
in  thus  making  himself  conspicuous,  knowing  well  how  his 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  251 

conduct  would  be  discussed,  and  viewing  himself  as  a 
righteous  man  suffering  for  the  sins  of  another. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  evening  street  Mattie  Strong 
accosted  Scattergood  that  evening,  clinging  to  his  arm 
tremulously. 

"Mr.  Baines,"  she  whispered,  affrightedly,  "he's 
come!" 

"Who's  come?" 

"Mavin  Newton — he's  here,  in  town." 

Scattergood  frowned.     "See  him?" 

"Hain't  seen  him,  but  he's  here.  I  kin  feel  him.  I 
knowed  it  the  minute  he  come." 

"Calc'late  I've  seen  everybody  here,  and  /  hain't  seen 
him." 

"  He's  here,  jest  the  same.  I'm  a-lookin'  fer  him.  What- 
ever name  he  come  under,  or  however  he  looks,  I'll  know 
him.  I  couldn't  make  no  mistake  about  Mavin." 

"Mattie,  I  hope  'tain't  so.  ...  I  hope  you're  mistook." 

"I — I  don't  know  whether  I  Jiope  so  or  not.  I —  Oh, 
Mr.  Baines,  I'd  rather  be  with  him,  a-comfortin'  him  and 
standin'  by  him,  no  matter  what  he  done — " 

Scattergood  patted  her  arm.  "I  calc'late,"  he  said, 
softly,  "that  God  hain't  never  invented  no  institution 
that  beats  the  love  of  a  good  woman.  . .  .  I'll  look  around, 
Mattie I'll  look  around." 

It  was  the  next  morning,  at  the  ball  game,  when  Mattie 
spoke  to  Scattergood  again. 

"I've  seen  him,"  she  whispered,  and  there  was  a  note  of 
happiness  hi  her  voice  and  a  look  of  renewed  youth  in  her 
eyes.  "He's  here,  like  I  said." 

"Where?" 

Mattie  lowered  her  voice  farther  still.  "Look  at  the 
band,"  she  said. 

"Nobody  resembles  him  there,"  said  Scattergood,  after 
a  minute. 


252  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Wait  till  they  stop  playin' — and  then  see  if  they  hain't 
somebody  there  that  takes  holt  of  the  fingers  of  his  right 
hand,  one  after  the  other,  and  kind  of  twists  'em.  .  .  . 
Look  sharp.  Mavin  he  allus  done  that  when  he  was 
nervous — allus.  I'd  know  him  by  it,  anywheres." 

Scattergood  watched.  Presently  the  "piece"  ended 
and  the  musicians  laid  down  their  instruments  and  eased 
back  in  their  chairs. 

"Look,"  said  Mattie. 

The  bearded  snare  drummer  was  performing  a  queer 
antic.  It  was  as  if  his  fingers  were  screwed  into  his  hand 
and  had  become  loosened  while  he  drummed.  No,  he 
was  tightening  them  GO  they  wouldn't  fall  off.  One  finger 
after  another  he  screwed  up,  and  then  went  over  them 
again  to  make  certain  they  were  secure. 

"I — knowed  he'd  come,"  Mattie  said,  happily. 

"  Um! . . .  This  here's  kind  of  untoward.  You  keep  your 
mouth  shet,  Mattie  Strong.  Don't  you  go  near  that 
feller  till  I  tell  you.  We  don't  want  a  rumpus  to  spoil 
this  here  week." 

"But  he's  here He's  here." 

"So's  trouble,"  said  Scattergood,  succinctly. 

The  rest  of  that  day  Scattergood  busied  himself  in 
searching  out  old  friends  and  neighbors  of  the  Newtons. 
Nothing  seemed  to  interest  him  which  happened  later 
than  eight  years  before,  but  no  event  of  that  period  was 
too  slight  or  inconsequential  to  receive  his  attention  and 
to  be  filed  away  in  his  shrewd  old  brain.  He  was  looking 
for  the  answer  to  a  question,  and  the  answer  was  piled 
under  the  rubbish  of  eight  years  of  human  activities — a 
hopeless  quest  to  any  but  Scattergood. 

Comedy  and  tragedy  were  alike  interesting  to  him. 
Just  as  he  lost  no  detail  of  the  old  man's  conduct  when  his 
boy  disappeared,  so  he  listened  and  laughed  when  Martin 
Banks  recalled  to  a  group  how  Old  Man  Newton  had 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  253 

fallen  under  the  suspicion  of  bootlegging  and  how  the 
town  had  seethed  with  the  downfall  of  an  elder  of  the 
church — and  all  because  the  old  man  had  imported  two 
cases,  each  of  a  dozen  bottles  of  the  Siwash  Indian  Stom- 
ach Bitters  recommended  to  cure  his  dyspepsia.  There 
had  been  a  moment,  said  Banks,  when  the  town  expected 
to  see  Newton  shut  up  in  the  calaboose  under  the  post 
office — until  the  true  contents  of  those  cases  was  revealed. 

During  the  afternoon  Scattergood  sent  six  telegrams  to 
as  many  different  cities.  Late  that  night  he  received  re- 
plies, and  sent  one  long  message  to  an  individual  high  in 
office  in  the  state.  It  was  an  urgent  message,  amounting 
to  a  command,  for  in  his  own  commonwealth  Scattergood 
Baines  was  able  to  command  when  the  need  required. 

"It's  an  off  chance,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  it's  what 
might  'a'  happened,  and  if  it  might  'a'  happened,  maybe 
it  did  happen.  .  .  ." 

Wednesday  afternoon  the  band  was  thrown  into  con- 
sternation, and  the  town  into  a  paroxysm  of  excitement 
and  speculation,  when  Sheriff  Watts  ascended  the  plat- 
form of  the  musicians  and,  placing  a  heavy  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  snare  drummer,  said,  loudly,  "Mavin 
Newton,  I  arrest  ye  in  the  name  of  the  law." 

Not  a  soul  in  that  breathless  crowd  was  there  who  failed 
to  see  Mattie  Strong  point  her  ringer  in  the  face  of  Scat- 
tergood Baines,  and  to  hear  her  utter  the  one  word, 
"Shame!"  Nor  did  any  fail  to  see  her  take  her  place  at 
the  side  of  the  bearded  drummer,  with  her  ringers  clutch- 
ing his  arm,  and  walk  to  the  door  of  the  jail  under  the  post 
office  with  the  prisoner. 

Then  the  word  was  passed  about  that  the  hearing  would 
take  place  before  Justice  of  the  Peace  Bender  that  very 
evening.  So  great  was  the  public  clamor  that  the  justice 
agreed  to  hold  court  in  the  town  hall  instead  of  in  his 
office;  and  it  was  rumored  that  Johnnie  Bones,  Scatter- 


254  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

good  Baines's  own  lawyer,  had  been  appointed  special 
prosecutor  by  the  Governor  of  the  state. 

Opinion  ran  against  Scattergood.  It  was  free  and  out- 
spoken. Townsfolk  and  visitors  alike  felt  that  Scatter- 
good  had  done  ill  in  bringing  the  young  man  to  justice — 
especially  at  such  a  time.  He  should  have  let  sleeping 
dogs  lie.  ...  And  when  it  heard  that  Sheriff  Watts  had 
carried  a  subpoena  to  Mavin  Newton's  father,  compelling 
his  presence  as  a  witness  against  his  own  son,  there  arose 
a  wind  of  disapproval  which  quite  swept  Scattergood  from 
the  esteem  of  the  community. 

But  the  town  came  to  the  hearing.  In  the  beginning  it 
was  a  cut-and-dried  affair.  The  facts  of  the  crime  were 
established  with  dry  precision.  Then  Johnnie  Bones 
called  the  name  of  a  witness,  and  the  audience  stiffened  to 
attention.  Even  Old  Man  Newton,  sitting  with  bowed 
head  and  scowling  brow,  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  face  of  the 
young  lawyer. 

"Avery  Sutphin,"  said  Johnnie  Bones,  and  the  former 
sheriff,  wearing  such  a  haircut  as  Coldriver  seldom  saw 
within  its  corporate  limits,  and  clothed  in  such  clothing 
as  it  had  never  seen  there,  was  brought  through  the  door 
by  two  strangers  of  official  look.  He  seated  himself  in  the 
witness  chair. 

"You  are  Avery  Sutphin,  former  sheriff  of  this  town?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  do  you  reside?" 

"In  the  state  penitentiary,"  said  Avery,  seeking  to  hide 
his  face. 

"Do  you  know  Mavin  Newton?" 

"Yes." 

"When  did  you  last  see  him?" 

"  It  was  the  night  of  June  twelfth,  eight  year  ago." 

"Where?" 

"In  his  father's  barn." 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  255 

"What  was  he  doing?" 

"Milkin',"  said  Avery. 

"You  went  to  see  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"To  git  some  money  out  of  him." 

"Did  he  owe  you  money?" 

"No." 

"How  much  money  did  you  go  to  get?" 

"Two  hunderd  dollars." 

"Did  you  get  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  what  money  it  was?" 

"Church-organ  money.     He  told  me." 

"Why  did  he  give  it  to  you?" 

"I  made  him." 

"How?" 

"Lemme  tell  it  my  own  way — if  I  got  to  tell  it. ...  He'd 
took  my  girl,  and  I  never  liked  him,  anyhow.  .  .  .  There'd 
been  rumors  his  old  man  was  bootleggin'.  Nothin*  to  it, 
of  course,  and  I  knowed  that.  And  I  needed  some  money. 
Bought  a  beef  critter  off'n  Marvin  Preston  next  day.  So 
I  went  to  Mavin  and  says  I  was  goin'  to  arrest  his  old 
man  because  I'd  ketched  him  sellin'  liquor,  and  Mavin 
he  begged  me  I  shouldn't.  I  told  him  the  old  man  would 
git  ten  year,  anyhow." 

"What  did  Mavin  say  to  that?" 

"He  jest  bowed  his  head  and  kind  of  leaned  against  the 
stall." 

"Then  what?" 

"  I  let  on  I  needed  money,  and  told  him  if  he'd  gimme 
two  hunderd  dollars  I'd  destroy  the  evidence  and  let  the 
old  man  go.  He  says  he  didn't  have  the  money,  and  I 
says  he  had  the  organ  money.  He  didn't  say  nothin'  for 
a  spell,  and  then  he  says,  kind  of  low,  and  wonderin', 


256  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

'Which  'u'd  be  the  worst?  Which  Vd  be  the  worst?' 
Then  I  says,  'Worst  what?'  And  he  says  for  his  father 
to  be  ketched  for  a  bootlegger  or  for  him  to  be  a  thief. 
...  I  jest  let  him  think  about  it,  and  didn't  say  nothin', 
because  I  knowed  how  he  looked  up  to  his  old  man. 

"Pretty  soon  he  says:  'I'd  be  a  thief,  'cause  I  couldn't 
explain.  I'd  have  to  run  off — and  leave  Mattie,  that  I'm 
a-goin'  to  marry  to-morrer.  ...  I  could  pay  it  back,  but 
that  wouldn't  do  no  good. . . .  But  for  father  to  be  arrested, 
him  an  elder,  and  all,  would  kill  him.  I  couldn't  bear  for 
father  to  be  shamed  'fore  all  the  world  or  to  be  thought 
guilty  of  sich  a  thing.  .  .  .  He's  wuth  a  heap  more  'n  I 
be,  and  he  won't  never  do  it  ag'in.'  Then  he  asks  if  I'll 
give  a  letter  to  his  old  man,  and  I  says  yes.  He  walked 
up  and  down  for  maybe  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  talkin'  to 
himself,  and  kind  of  fightin'  it  out,  but  I  knowed  what 
he'd  do,  right  along.  At  the  end  he  come  over  and  says : 
'This  here  means  ruinin'  my  life  and  breakin'  Mattie's 
heart  .  .  .  but  I  calc'late  that's  better  'n  holdin'  father 
up  to  scorn  and  seein'  him  in  jail.  ...  If  they  was 
only  some  other  way!'  His  voice  was  stiddylike,  but  he 
was  right  pale  and  his  eyes  was  a-shinin'.  I  remember 
how  they  was  a-shinin'.  'I  calc'late,'  he  says,  'that  I  kin 
bear  it  fer  father's  sake.'  Then  he  says  to  me,  kind  of 
fierce,  '  If  ever  you  let  on  to  anybody  why  I  done  this,  if 
it's  in  a  hunderd  years,  I'll  come  back  and  kill  you.'  For 
a  while  he  kept  still  again,  and  then  he  went  in  the  house 
and  got  the  money,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  his  old  man, 
and  I  promised  to  give  it  to  him — but  I  tore  it  up." 

"What  did  the  letter  say?" 

"It  just  said  somethin'  to  the  effect  that  he  was  willin' 
to  do  what  he  done  if  his  old  man  would  give  over  breakin' 
the  law  and  go  to  livin'  upright  like  he  always  done,  and 
that  he  hoped  maybe  God  seen  a  difference  in  stealin'  on 
account  of  the  reasons  folks  had  for  doin'  it — but  if  God 


THE  SON  THAT  WAS  DEAD  257 

didn't  make  no  difference,  why,  he'd  rather  bear  it  than 
have  it  fall  on  his  old  man." 

"And  then?" 

"I  took  the  money  and  come  away.  And  he  run  away. 
And  that's  all." 

The  town  hall  was  very  still.  The  stillness  of  it  seemed 
to  pierce  and  hurt.  .  .  .  Then  it  was  broken  by  a  cry,  a 
hoarse  cry,  wrenched  from  the  soul  of  a  man.  "My  boy! 
.  .  .  My  boy!  ..."  Old  Elder  Newton  was  on  his  feet, 
tottering  toward  his  son,  and  before  his  son  he  sank  upon 
his  knees  and  buried  his  hard,  weathered  old  face  upon 
Mavin's  knees. 

Justice  of  the  Peace  Bender  cleared  his  throat. 

"This  here,"  he  said,  "looks  to  me  to  be  suthin'  the 
folks  of  this  town,  the  friends  and  neighbors  of  this  here 
father  and  son,  ought  to  settle,  instid  of  the  law.  Maybe 
it  hain't  legal,  but  I  dunno  who's  to  interfere.  .  .  .  Folks, 
what  ought  to  be  done  to  this  here  boy  that  done  a  crime 
and  suffered  the  consequences  of  it,  jest  to  save  his  father 
from  another  crime  the  old  man  never  done  a-tall? " 

Neither  Mavin  nor  his  father  heard.  The  old  elder  was 
muttering  over  and  over,  "My  boy  that  was  dead  and  is 
alive  again.  ..." 

Scattergood  arose  silently  and  pointed  to  the  door, 
and  the  crowd  withdrew  silently,  withdrew  to  group  about 
the  entrance  outside  and  to  wait.  They  were  patient.  It 
was  an  hour  before  Elder  Newton  descended,  his  son  on 
one  side  and  Mattie  Strong  on  the  other.  .  .  .  The  band, 
with  a  volunteer  drummer,  lifted  its  joyous  voice,  and, 
looking  up,  the  trio  faced  a  banner  upon  which  Scatter- 
good  had  caused  to  be  painted,  "Welcome  Home,  Mavin 
Newton." 

Coldriver  had  taken  judicial  action  and  thus  voiced  its 
decision. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT 

JASON  LOCKER,  who  was  Sam  Kettleman's  rival  in 
Coldriver's  grocery  industry,  was  a  trifle  too  amenable 
to  modern  ideas  at  times.  He  took  notions,  as  the  folks 
said.  Once  he  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  could  do  any- 
thing in  his  store  that  anybody  could  do  in  a  big  city  store 
and  make  a  success  of  it.  He  was  so  progressive  that  in 
the  Coldriver  parade  he  occupied  a  position  so  advanced 
that  it  really  seemed  like  two  parades. 

Old  Man  Bogle  and  Deacon  Pettybone  and  Elder 
Hooper  always  discussed  Locker  when  politics  were  ex- 
hausted, and  their  only  point  of  difference  was  as  to  when 
and  exactly  how  Jason  would  wind  up  in  bankruptcy. 
They  were  agreed  that  he  was  a  bit  touched  in  his  head. 
He  was  much  given  to  sales.  He  installed  a  perfectly  un- 
necessary cash  carrier  from  the  counter  to  a  desk  where 
Mrs.  Locker  made  change.  He  bought  a  case  of  olives, 
which  were  viewed  and  tasted  (free)  by  the  village  loafers, 
and  pronounced  spoiled.  ...  In  short,  there  was  no  new- 
fangled idea  which  Jason  failed  to  adopt,  and  in  a  matter 
of  twenty  years  the  town  grew  accustomed  to  him,  and 
tolerated  him,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  was  rather  proud 
of  him  as  a  novel  lunatic.  However,  he  prospered. 
k  But  when,  on  a  certain  Monday  morning,  a  strange 
and  unquestionably  pretty  girl,  dressed  not  according  to 
Coldriver's  ideas  of  current  fashions,  made  her  appear- 
ance in  a  space  cleared  in  the  middle  of  the  store,  and 
there  proceeded  to  make  and  dispense  tiny  cups  of  a  new 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    259 

brand  of  coffee,  the  village  considered  that  Jason  had  gone 
too  far. 

It  is  true  that  it  came  in  droves  to  taste  the  coffee  being 
demonstrated,  for  it  was  to  be  had  without  money  and 
without  price.  It  came  to  see  what  it  would  not  believe 
without  seeing,  and  regarded  the  young  woman  with  open 
suspicion  and  hostility.  It  wondered  what  manner  of 
young  woman  it  could  be  who  would  harum-scarum  around 
the  country  making  coffee  for  every  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry,  and  wearing  a  smile  for  everybody,  and  demeaning 
herself  generally  in  a  manner  not  heretofore  observed. 
It  viewed  and  reviewed  her  hair,  her  slippers,  her  ankles, 
her  frocks,  and  her  ornaments.  The  women  folks,  and 
especially  the  younger  women,  held  frequent  indigna- 
tion meetings,  and  declared  for  the  advisability  of  boy- 
cotting Locker  unless  he  removed  this  menace  from 
their  midst. 

But  when  it  noticed,  not  later  than  the  second  day  of 
Miss  Yvette  Hinchbrooke's  career  in  their  midst,  that 
young  Homer  Locker  flapped  about  her  like  some  over- 
grown insect  about  a  street  lamp,  it  took  no  pains  to  con- 
ceal its  delight  and  devoutly  hoped  for  the  worst. 

"Looks  like  Providence  was  steppin'  in,"  said  Elder 
Hooper  to  Deacon  Petty  bone.  "Dunne's  I  ever  see  a 
more  fittin'  as  well  as  proper  follerin'  up  of  sinful  care- 
lessness by  sich  consequences  as  might  be  expected  to 
ensue." 

"Uh-huh!  .  .  .  That  there  name  of  her'n.  Folks  differs 
about  the  way  to  say  it.  I  been  holdin'  out  ag'in'  many 
for  Wife-ette — that  way.  Looks  like  French  or  suthin' 
furrin.  Others  say  it's  Weev-ette.  If  'twan't  for  seemin' 
to  show  int'rest  in  the  baggage,  dummed  if  I  wouldn't  up 
and  ask  her." 

"Names  don't  count,"  said  Old  Man  Bogle,  oracularly. 
"She  hain't  to  blame  for  pickin'  her  name.  Her  ma  gave 


260  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

it  to  her  out  of  a  book,  seems  as  though.  Nevertheless, 
'tain't  no  fit  name  for  a  woman,  and,  so  fur's  I  kin  see, 
she  fits  her  name  like  Ovid  Nixon's  tailor  pants  fits  his 


"She's  light,"  said  the  elder. 

"Sh'u'dn't  be  s'prised,"  said  Old  Man  Bogle,  rolling 
his  eyes,  "if  she  was  one  of  them  actoresses.  Venture  to 
say  she's  filled  with  worldly  wisdom,  that  gal,  and  that 
sin  and  cuttin'  up  different  ways  hain't  nothin'  strange 
nor  unaccustomed  to  her." 

"While  I  was  a-drinkin'  down  her  coffee  out  of  that 
measly  leetle  cup,"  said  the  deacon,  "she  was  that  brazen! 
Acted  like  she'd  took  a  fancy  to  me,"  he  said,  with  a  spruc- 
ing back  of  his  old  shoulders. 

"Got  all  the  wiles  of  that  there  woman  that  danced  off 
the  head  of  John  the  Baptist,"  said  the  elder,  grimly.  "So 
she  dasted  even  to  tempt  a  deacon  of  the  church." 

"She  didn't  tempt  me  none,"  snapped  the  deacon,  "but 
I  lay  she  was  willin'." 

"I'll  venture,"  said  Old  Man  Bogle,  with  a  light  in  his 
rheumy  eyes,  "that  she  hain't  no  stranger  to  wearin' 
tights." 

"Shame!"  said  the  elder  and  the  deacon,  hi  a  breath. 
And  then,  from  the  deacon,  in  a  tone  which  might  have 
been  a  reflection  of  lofty  satisfaction  in  a  virtue,  or  which 
might  have  been  something  quite  different,  "I've  read  of 
them  there  tights,  Elder,  but  I  kin  say  with  a  clear  con- 
science that  I  hain't  never  witnessed  a  pah1  of  'em." 

"My  newy  took  me  to  a  show  in  Boston  wunst,"  said 
Old  Man  Bogle,  tentatively,  but  he  was  silenced  immedi- 
ately and  sternly. 

"How  kin  a  man  combat  evil,"  he  demanded,  "if  he 
hain't  familiar  with  the  wiles  of  it?" 

"He  kin  set  his  face  to  the  right,"  said  the  elder,  "and 
tread  the  path." 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    261 

"You  wouldn't  b'lieve  the  things  I  seen  in  that  show," 
said  Bogle,  waggling  his  head. 

"Don't  intend  to  be  called  on  to  b'lieve  'em,"  said  the 
deacon.  "Look.  .  .  .  Comin'  acrost  the  bridge.  There's 
Locker's  boy  and  that  there  Wife-ette,  and  him  lookin' 
like  he'd  enjoy  divin'  down  her  throat." 

"Poor  Jason,"  said  the  elder,  "he's  reapin'  the  whirl- 
wind." 

"Kin  he  be  blind?" 

"Somebody  ought  to  take  Jason  off  to  one  side  and  give 
him  warnin'." 

The  deacon  considered,  puckering  his  thin  lips  and 
cocking  a  hard  old  eye.  "'Tain't  fer  us  to  meddle,"  he 
said,  righteously.  "  They's  a  divine  plan  in  ever'thing,  and 
we  hain't  able  to  see  what's  behind  all  this  here.  We'll 
jest  set  and  wait  the  outcome." 

That  is  what  all  Coldriver  did;  it  sat  and  awaited  the 
outcome  with  ill-restrained  enthusiasm,  and  while  it  waited 
it  talked.  No  word  or  gesture  or  movement  of  young 
Homer  Locker  and  Yvette  Hinchbrooke  went  undis- 
cussed.  Nobody  in  town  was  unaware  of  Homer's  in- 
fatuation for  the  coffee  demonstrator — with  the  one  ex- 
ception of  Homer's  father,  who  was  too  busy  waiting 
upon  the  unaccustomed  rush  of  trade  to  notice  anything 
else. 

On  the  fourth  evening  of  Yvette's  stay  in  Coldriver 
there  was  a  dance  in  the  town  hall.  Especial  interest  im- 
mediately attached  to  this  affair  because  of  the  specula- 
tions as  to  whether  Homer  would  be  so  rash  as  to  invite 
Yvette  as  his  partner.  The  village  refused  to  believe  the 
young  man  would  fail  them  and  remain  away.  That  would 
be  a  calamity  not  easily  endured,  so  it  set  itself  to  plan 
its  actions  in  case  she  made  her  appearance.  It  wondered 
how  she  would  dress  and  how  she  would  behave. 

Every  girl  in  the  village  who  possessed  clear  title  to  a 


262  ^SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

young  man  knew  exactly  how  she  would  deport  herself. 
The  night  before  the  dance  no  less  than  a  score  of  ycung 
men  were  informed  with  finality  that  they  were  not  to 
dance  with  the  stranger,  nor  to  be  seen  in  her  vicinity. 
Nonna  Grainger  expressed  the  will  of  all  when  she  told 
Will  Peasley  that  if  he  danced  one  dance  with  that  coffee 
girl  she  would  up  and  go  home  alone.  In  the  beginning 
there  was  no  definite  concerted  action;  it  was  assured, 
however,  that  Yvette  would  have  few  partners. 

Homer  did  not  disappoint  his  friends.  During  the  first 
dance  he  entered  the  hall  with  Yvette,  and  the  music  all 
but  stopped  to  stare.  Undeniably  she  was  pretty.  It 
was  not  her  prettiness  the  women  resented,  however,  but 
her  air  and  her  clothes.  Actually  she  wore  a  dress  cut  low 
at  the  neck,  and  sleeveless.  Coldriver  had  heard  of  such 
garments,  and  there  were  those  who  actually  believed 
them  to  exist  and  to  be  worn  by  certain  women  in  Euro- 
pean society  among  kings  and  dukes  and  other  frightfully 
immoral  people.  But  that  one  should  ever  make  its  ap- 
pearance in  Coldriver,  under  their  very  eyes,  was  a  thing 
so  startling,  so  outrageous,  as  almost  to  demand  the  spon- 
taneous formation  of  a  vigilance  committee. 

Even  yet  there  was  no  concerted  action,  but  sentiment 
was  crystallizing.  Homer  and  Yvette  danced  three  dances, 
and  Homer's  face  began  to  wear  a  scowl.  No  less  than 
five  young  men  approached  by  hirn  with  the  purpose  of 
securing  them  as  partners  for  Yvette  declined  with 
brevity. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  he  demanded,  bel- 
ligerently. "There  hain't  no  pertier  girl  nor  no  better 
dancer  on  the  floor." 

"Mebby  so.    Hain't  noticed.    Got  all  my  dances  took." 

"Me  too.    My  girl  she  says — " 

"She  says  what?"  snapped  Homer. 

"She  says  she'll  go  home  if  I  dance  with  yourn." 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT   263 

"And  I  say/'  said  Homer,  with  set  jaw,  "that  you  fellers 
is  goin'  to  dance  with  Yvette,  or  there's  goin'  to  be  more 
fights  in  Coldriver  'n  Coldriver  ever  see  before.  That's* 
my  say." 

He  announced  he  would  be  back  after  the  next  dance,, 
and  that  somebody  would  dance  with  Yvette.  "The  feller 
that  refuses,"  said  he,  "goes  outside  with  me." 

He  went  back  to  Yvette,  who,  not  lacking  in  shrewd- 
ness, sensed  something  of  the  situation. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  come,"  she  said,  uneasily. 

"I  don't  .  .» .  if  you  hain't  got  no  objection  to  dancin' 
jest  with  me." 

"It  '11  look  queer  if  I  dance  all  of  them  with  you." 

"Jest  ask  me,  and  see  if  I  care,"  he  said,  desperately. 
"It's  like  I'd  want  to  have  it.  I  couldn't  never  dance 
more  'n  I  want  to  with  you.  I  wisht  I  could  dance  all  the 
dances  there  '11  be  in  your  life  with  you.  .  .  .  Come  on. 
This  here's  a  quadrille." 

Pliny  Pickett,  self-appointed  caller  of  square  dances, 
was  arranging  the  floor.  "One  more  couple  wanted  to 
this  end,"  he  bellowed.  "Here's  two  couples  a-waitin'. 
Don't  hang  back.  Music's  a-waitin'.  .  .  .  Right  there. 
All  ready?  .  .  .  Nope.  One  couple  needed  in  the 
middle." 

Homer  and  Yvette  approached  that  square  where  three 
couples  awaited  the  fourth  to  complete  their  set.  They 
took  their  places,  to  the  manifest  embarrassment  of  the 
other  six.  Suddenly  Norma  Grainger  whispered  some- 
thing to  her  young  man  and  tugged  at  his  arm.  He  looked 
sidewise,  sheepishly,  at  Homer,  and  hung  back. 

"You  come  right  along,"  said  Norma.  "I  hain't  goin' 
to  have  it  said  of  me  that  I  danced  in  no  set  with  her." 

"Nor  me,"  said  Marion  Towne,  also  tugging  at  her 
escort. 

The  young  men  were  forced  to  give  way,  and,  not  too 

18 


264  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

proud  to  cast  glances  of  placating  nature  at  Homer,  they 
fell  from  their  places  and  walked  to  the  benches  around 
the  hall.  Yvette  and  Homer  were  left  standing  alone, 
conspicuous,  the  center  of  all  eyes. 

Homer  clenched  his  fists  and  glared  about  him;  then — 
for  in  his  ungainly  body  there  resided  something  that  is 
essential  to  manhood,  and  without  which  none  may  be 
called  a  gentleman — he  offered  his  arm  to  Yvette.  "I 
guess  we  better  go,"  he  said,  softly.  Then  squaring  his 
powerful  shoulders  and  glancing  about  him  with  a  real 
dignity  which  Scattergood  Baines,  sitting  in  one  corner, 
noted  and  applauded,  he  led  the  girl  from  the  room. 

"I'll  see  you  home,"  he  said,  formally.  "I  hain't  got 
nothin'  to  say." 

"It — it's  not  your  fault,"  she  said,  tremulously. 

"Somebody  '11  wisht  it  wa'n't  their  fault  'fore  morning" 
he  answered. 

"I  shouldn't  have  gone." 

"  Why?  Hain't  you  as  good  as  any  of  them,  and  better? 
Hain't  you  the  pertiest  girl  I  ever  see?  .  .  .  You  hain't 
mad  with  me,  be  you?" 

"No.  .  .  .  Not  with  anybody,  I  guess.  I — I  ought  to 
be  used  to  it.  I — "  She  began  to  cry. 

It  was  a  dark  spot  there  on  the  bridge.  Homer  was  not 
apt  at  words,  but  he  could  feel  and  he  did  feel.  It  was 
no  mere  impulse  to  comfort  a  pretty  girl  that  moved  him 
to  inclose  her  with  his  muscular  arms  and  to  press  her  to 
him  none  too  gently. 

"I  kin  lick  the  hull  world  fer  you,"  he  said,  huskily, 
and  then  he  kissed  her  wet  cheek  again  and  again,  and 
repeated  his  ability  to  thrash  all  comers  in  her  cause,  and 
stated  his  desire  to  undertake  exactly  that  task  for  the 
term  of  her  natural  life.  "If  you  was  to  marry  me,"  he 
said,  "they  wouldn't  nobody  dast  trample  on  you.  .  .  . 
You're  a-goin'  to  marry  me,  hain't  you?" 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    265 

"  I — I  don't  know.  .  .  .  You — you  don't  know  anything 
about  me." 

"Calc'late  I  know  enough,"  he  said. 

"Your  folks  wouldn't  put  up  with  it." 

"Huh!" 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  she  said,  brokenly:  " I  must 
go  away.  I  can't  ever  go  back  to  the  store  to-morrow  to 
have  everybody  staring  at  me  and  talking  about  me.  .  .  . 
I  want  to  go  away  to-night." 

"You  shaVt.    Nor  no  other  time,  neither." 

And  then,  out  of  the  darkness  behind,  spoke  Scatter- 
good  Baines's  voice.  "Hain't  calc'latin'  to  bust  the  gal, 
be  you?  .  .  .  Jest  happened  along  to  say  the  deacon's  been 
talkin'  to  your  pa  about  you  'n'  her,  and  your  pa's  het  up 
consid'able.  He's  startin'  out  to  look  fer  you.  Lucky  I 
come  along,  wa'n't  it?" 

"I'm  of  age,"  said  Homer,  aggressively. 

"Lots  is,"  said  Scattergood.  "'Tain't  nothin'  to  take 
special  pride  in.  ...  Homer,  I've  watched  you  raised  from 
a  colt,  hain't  I?  Be  you  willin'  to  kind  of  leave  this  here 
to  me  a  spell?  I  sort  of  want  to  look  into  things.  You  go 
along  about  your  business  and  leave  me  talk  to  Wife-ette 
here Made  up  your  mind  you  want  her?" 

"Yes." 

"She  want  you? " 

"  I —  What  business  is  it  of  yours?  "  Yvette  demanded, 
angrily.  "Who  are  you?  What  are  you  interfering  for? " 

"Kind  of  a  habit  with  me,"  said  Scattergood,  "and  my 
wife  hain't  ever  been  able  to  cure  me,  even  puttin'  things 
in  my  coffee  on  the  sly.  . .  .  G'-by,  Homer.  And  don't  go 
lickin' nobody.  G'-by." 

The  habit  of  obedience  to  Scattergood's  customary  dis- 
missal was  strong  in  Coldriver.  For  more  than  a  genera- 
tion the  town  had  been  trained  to  heed  it  and  to  trust  its 
affairs  to  the  old  hardware  merchant.  Homer  hesitated, 


26€  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

coughed,  mumbled  good  night  to  Yvette,  and  slouched 
away. 

"There,"  said  Scattergood,  "now  you  and  me  kin  talk. 
We'll  go  up  to  your  room,  where  nobody  kin  disturb  us." 
The  conventions  nor  the  tongue  of  gossip  was  non-exist- 
ent to  Scattergood  Baines,  and  Yvette,  not  reared  in  a 
school  where  trust  in  men  is  easily  learned,  was  shrewd 
enough  to  recognize  Scattergood's  purpose  and  her  own 
safety. 

"I  s'pose  you're  the  local  Mr.  Fix-it,"  she  said,  with 
sarcasm. 

"I  s'pose,"  said  Scattergood,  "that  I've  knowed  Homer 
sence  he  was  knee  high  to  a  mouse's  kitten,  and  I  don't 
know  nothin'  about  you  a-tall.  I  gather  you're  calc'latin' 
on  marryin'  Homer.  .  .  .  Mebby  you  be  and  mebby  you 
hain't.  .  .  .  Depends.  Come  along." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  hotel  and  allowed  Yvette  to  pre- 
cede him  up  the  stairs  to  her  room,  which  she  unlocked 
and  stood  aside  for  him  to  enter.  He  looked  about  him 
in  the  sharp-eyed  way  characteristic  of  him,  not  omitting 
to  include  in  his  survey  the  toilet  articles  on  the  dresser. 

"Hain't  you  perty  enough  without  them?"  he  asked, 
indicating  the  lip  stick  and  rice  powder.  "Us  folks  hain't 
used  to  'em,  much.  .  .  .  Wunst  we  give  a  home-talent  play 
here,  and  there  come  a  feller  from  Boston  to  help  out. 
Mis'  Blossom  was  into  it,  and  he  come  around  to  paint 
her  up.  She  jest  give  him  one  look,  and  says,  says  she,  '  I 
hain't  never  painted  my  face  yit,  and  I  don't  calc'late  to 
start  in  now.'  ...  I  got  to  admit  she  looked  kind  of  pale 
and  peeked  amongst  the  rest,  but  she  stuck  to  her 
principles." 

Yvette  stared  at  Scattergood,  nonplused  for  the  first 
time.  What  did  he  mean?  How  was  she  to  take  him? 
His  face  was  serene  and  there  was  no  glint  of  humor  in 
his  eye.  .  .  .  Yet,  somehow,  she  gathered  the  idea  he  was 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT        267 

chuckling  inwardly  and  that  there  resided  in  him  a  broad 
and  tender  toleration  for  the  little  antics  and  makeshifts 
of  mankind.  Possibly  he  was  holding  Mrs.  Blossom  up 
to  her  as  a  model  of  rectitude;  perhaps  he  was  asking  her 
to  laugh  with  him  at  a  foible  of  one  of  his  own  people. 
She  wished  she  knew  which. 

"Calc'late  on  marryin'  Homer?"  he  asked. 

«!_» 

"Yes  or  no — quick." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  lifting  her  chin  bravely. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Knowed  him  four  days,  hain't  you?  Think 
it's  long  enough?  Plenty  of  time  to  figger  it  all  out?" 

She  sat  down  on  the  bed,  drooping  wearily.  "I'm 
tired,"  she  said,  "awful  tired.  I  can't  stand  this  life  any 
longer.  I've  got  to  have  a  place  to  rest." 

"Hain't  goin'  to  have  Homer  used  for  no  sanitorium," 
said  Scattergood. 

"Ilikehim/'saidYvette. 

"  'Tain't  enough.  Up  this  way  folks  mostly  loves  when 
they  git  married — or  owns  adjoinin'  timber." 

Again  she  was  at  a  loss.  What  did  he  mean?  If  he 
would  only  smile! 

"I — I've  got  a  feeling  I  could  trust  him,"  she  said,  "and 
he'd  be  good  to  me." 

"He  would,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  hain't  worritin' 
about  his  dealin'  with  you;  it's  your  dealin'  with  him  I'm 
questionin'  into." 

"  I'd—    He  wouldn't  be  sorry." 

"Um! .  .  .  Nate  Weaver,  back  country  a  spell, is  lookin' 
fer  a  wife.  Hain't  young.  Got  lots  of  money,  and  the 
right  woman  could  weasel  it  out  of  him.  Lots  of  it.  ... 
He'd  like  you  fine.  Homer  won't  have  much,  and  if  his 
pa  keeps  on  feelin'  like  he  does,  he  won't  have  none.  .  .  . 
If  you're  lookin'  fer  a  restin*  place,  you  might  consider 
Nate.  I  could  fix  it." 


268  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

Her  eyes  flashed.  "I  haven't  come  to  that  yet,"  she 
said,  sharply,  and  then  began  to  cry  quietly. 

"Um!  .  .  ."  Scattergood  gripped  his  pudgy  hands 
together  so  that  each  might  restrain  the  other  from  pat- 
ting her  head  comfortingly.  "Um!  .  .  .  What's  your 
name?" 

"My  name?" 

"Yes 'Tain't  Wife-ette  Hinchbrooke.  They  hain't 

no  sich  name.  'Tain't  human. . . .  What's  your  real  one?" 

"Eva  Hopkins." 

"How'd  you  come  to  change?" 

"A  girl's  got  a  right  to  call  herself  anything  she  wants 
to,"  she  said,  defensively. 

"Except  Mrs.  Homer  Locker,"  said  Scattergood,  dryly. 
"Now  jest  come  off'n  your  high  hoss,  and  we'll  talk. 
When  we  git  through,  we'll  do.  .  .  .  Either  you'll  take  the 
mornin'  train  out  of  Coldriver,  or  you'll  stay  and  we'll 
see.  Depends  on  what  I  hear." 

"I  could  lie,"  she  said. 

"Folks  don't  gen'ally  lie  to  me"  said  Scattergood, 
gently.  "They  found  out  it  didn't  pay — and  I  hain't 
much  give  to  believin'  nothin'  but  the  truth.  We  deal  in 
it  a  lot  up  this  here  way." 

"I  hate  your  people  and  their  dealings." 

"Don't  wonder  at  it.  I  seen  what  they  done  to  you 
to-night.  .  .  .  But  you  don't  know  'em  like  I  do.  They's 
times  when  they  act  cold  and  ha'sh  and  nigh  to  cruel, 
but  that  hain't  when  they're  real.  Them  times  they're 
jest  makin'  b'lieve,  'cause  they  hain't  got  no  idee  what 
they  ought  to  do.  .  .  .  I've  knowed  'em  these  thirty  year 
— right  down  knowed  'em.  Lemme  tell  you  they  hain't  a 
finer  folks  on  earth,  bar  nobody.  They  don't  show  much 
outside,  but  the  insides  is  right.  You  kin  find  more  kind- 
ness and  charity  and  long-sufferin'  and  tenderness  and 
goodness  right  here  amongst  the  cantankerous-seemin'  of 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    269 

Coldriver  'n  you  kin  find  anywheres  else  on  earth.  .  .  . 
They're  narrer,  Eva,  and  they  got  sot  notions,  but  they 
got  a  power  to  do  kindness,  once  you  git  'em  started  at 
it,  that  hain't  to  be  beat.  ...  I  kind  of  calc'late  God 
hain't  so  disapp'inted  with  the  folks  of  Coldriver  as  a 
stranger  might  git  the  idee  he  is. ...  Now  we'll  go  ahead." 

When  Scattergood  had  done  asking  questions  and  re- 
ceiving answers,  he  sat  silent  for  a  matter  of  moments. 
Automatically  his  hands  strayed  to  the  lacing  of  his  shoes, 
for  his  pudgy  toes  itched  for  freedom  to  wiggle.  He  dealt 
with  a  problem  whose  complex  elements  were  human 
emotions  and  prejudices,  and  at  such  times  he  found  his 
brain  to  act  more  clearly  and  efficiently  with  shoes  re- 
moved. He  detected  himself,  however,  in  the  act  of  un- 
tying the  laces,  and  sat  upright  with  ludicrous  suddenness. 

"Um! .  .  ."  he  said,  in  some  confusion.  "Mandy  says  I 
hain't  never  to  do  it  when  wimmin  is  around.  Dunno 
why.  .  .  .  Now  they's  some  p'ints  I  got  to  impress  on  you." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Baines,"  said  Yvette,  who  had  reached  a 
condition  of  respect  and  confidence  in  Scattergood — as 
most  people  did  upon  meeting  him  face  to  face. 

"  Fust,  Homer  hain't  no  sanitorium  for  weary  wimmin. 
When  you  kin  come  and  say,  meanin'  it  from  your  heart, 
'  I  love  Homer/  then  we'll  see." 

She  nodded  acquiescence. 

"Second,  it  won't  never  and  noways  be  possible  fer 
you  and  Homer  to  live  here  onless  the  folks  takes  to  you. 
You  got  to  win  yourself  a  welcome  in  Coldriver." 

"That  means,"  she  said,  dully,  "that  I'd  better  go." 

"Huh!  .  .  .  Hain't  you  got  no  backbone?  You  do  like 
you're  told.  You  stay  where  you  be.  'Tain't  possible  fer 
you  to  go  back  to  Locker's  store,  and  that  puts  you  out 
of  a  job,  don't  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Hard  up?" 


270  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"I  can  live  a  few  days — but — " 

"Hain't  no  buts.  You  kin  live  as  long  as  I  say  so.  You 
stay  hitched  to  this  here  hitchin'  post,  and  I'll  'tend  to 
the  money.  Jest  don't  do  nothin'  but  be  where  you  be — 
and  be  makin'  up  your  mind  if  Homer's  the  boy  you  kin 
love  and  cherish,  or  if  he's  nothin'  but  a  sort  of  shady 
restin'  place.  .  .  .  G'-by." 

He  got  up  abruptly  and  went  out.  On  the  bridge  he 
encountered  three  dark  figures,  which,  upon  inspection, 
resolved  themselves  into  Old  Man  Bogle,  Deacon  Petty- 
bone,  and  Elder  Hooper. 

"Scattergood,"  said  the  elder,  "somethin's  happened." 

"Somethin*  'most  alms  does." 

"This  here's  special  and  horrifyin'." 

"Havin'  to  do  with  what?" 

"That  coffee  gal,  that  baggage,  that  hussy!" 

"Um!...Sichas?" 

"Recall  that  show  Bogle  was  took  to  in  Boston?" 

"Where  the  wimmin  wore  tights — that's  been  on  his 
mind  ever  since?  Calc'late  I  do.  Kind  of  a  high  spot  in 
Bogle's  life.  Come  nigh  bein'  the  makin'  of  him." 

"He  claims  he  recognizes  this  here  gal  as  one  of  them 
dancin'  wimmin  that  stood  in  a  row  with  less  on  to  them 
than  any  woman  ever  ought  to  have  with  the  lights 
turned  on." 

"No!"  exclaimed  Scattergood. 

"Yep!"  said  all  three  of  them  in  chorus. 

"Stood  right  in  front,  as  I  recall  it,  a-makin'  eyes  and 
kickin'  up  her  heels  that  immodest  you  wouldn't  b'lieve. 
Looked  right  at  me,  too.  I  seen  her." 

"Got  your  money's  wuth,  then,  didn't  ye?    Wa-al?" 

"Suthin's  got  to  be  done." 

"Sich  as?" 

"Riddin'  the  town  of  her." 

"Go  ahead  and  rid  it,  then G'-by." 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    271 

"But  we  want  you  sh'u'd  help  us." 

"G'-by,"  said  Scattergood  again,  as  he  moved  off  pon- 
derously into  the  darkness. 

The  elder  moved  nearer  Bogle  and  endeavored  to  peer 
into  his  face.  "  Be  you  sure  she's  the  same  one?"  he  asked, 
in  a  confidential  whisper. 

"Wa-al — they  was  about  the  same  heft,"  said  Bogle, 
"and  if  this  hain't  her,  it  ought  to  be.  I  kin  b'lieve  it, 
can't  I?  Got  a  right  to  b'lieve  it,  hain't  I?  Good  fer  the 
town  to  b'lieve  it,  hain't  it?" 

"Calc'late  'tis." 

"All  right,  then.    I  aim  to  keep  on  b'lievin'  it." 

Next  day  Homer  Locker  abandoned  his  work  and  with 
the  utmost  brazenness  hired  a  rig  at  the  livery  and  drove 
to  the  hotel.  A  group  of  notables  assembled  upon  the 
bridge  to  watch  the  event.  They  saw  him  emerge  from 
the  inn  with  Yvette,  help  her  into  the  buggy  with  great 
solicitude,  and  drive  away.  They  did  not  return  until 
supper  time  was  long  past. 

"I'm  determined  to  git  this  settled  one  way  or  t'other," 
said  Homer,  after  a  long  pause.  "Be  you  goin'  to  marry 
me?" 

"Why  do  you  want  me?"  Yvette  asked,  fixing  her  eyes 
on  his  face.  "Is  it  just  because  you  think  I'm  pretty?" 

He  considered.  It  was  a  hard  question  for  a  young  man 
not  adept  in  the  use  of  words  to  answer.  "'Tain't  jest 
that,"  he  said,  finally.  "I  like  you  bein'  perty.  But 
it's  somethin'  else.  I  hain't  able  to  explain  it,  exceptin' 
that  I  want  you  more  'n  I  ever  wanted  anythin'  in  my 
life." 

"Maybe,  when  I  tell  you  about  myself,  you  won't  want 
me  at  all." 

He  paused  again,  while  she  studied  his  face  anxiously. 

"  I  dunno.  .  .  .  I —  Tell  ye  what.  I  want  you  like  I 
know  you.  I'm  satisfied.  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  me 


272  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

nothin'.  I  don't  want  to  know  nothin'."  He  turned  and 
looked  with  clumsy  gravity  into  her  eyes,  which  did 
not  waver.  "Besides,"  he  said,  "I  don't  believe  you  got 
anythin'  discreditable  to  tell." 

"I  want  to  tell  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear,"  he  said,  simply.  "I'd  rather 
take  you,  jest  trustin'  you  and  knowin'  in  my  heart  that 
you're  good.  Somehow  I  know  it." 

She  bit  her  lip,  her  eyes  were  moist,  and  she  sat  very 
still  for  a  long  time;  then  she  said,  softly:  "I  didn't  know 
men  like  that  lived.  ...  I  didn't  know." 

Then  again,  after  the  passage  of  minutes:  "I  was  go- 
ing to  marry  you,  Homer,  just  for  a  home  and  a  good 
man  and  to  get  peace.  .  .  .  But  I  sha'n't  do  it  now.  I 
can't  come  between  you  and  all  your  folks — and  they 
wouldn't  have  me." 

"You're  more  to  ,me  than  everybody  else  thro  wed 
together." 

"No,  Homer.  Before  I  didn't  think  I  cared.  ...  I  do 
care,  Homer.  I — I  love  you.  I  don't  mind  saying  it  now. 
.  .  .  I'm  going  away  in  the  morning." 

It  was  a  point  they  argued  all  the  day,  but  Yvette  was 
not  to  be  moved,  and  Homer  was  in  despair.  As  he  drove 
into  the  village  that  evening,  glum  and  unhappy,  Yvette 
said:  "Stop  at  Mr.  Baines's,  please,  Homer.  I  want  to 
speak  to  him." 

Scattergood  was  in  his  accustomed  place  before  his 
store,  shoes  on  the  piazza  beside  him,  and  his  feet,  guilt- 
less of  socks,  reveling  in  their  liberty. 

"Mr.  Baines,"  said  Yvette,  "I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  away  to-morrow." 

"Um!  .  .  .  To-morrer,  eh?  Made  up  your  mind  you 
don't  want  Homer,  have  ye?  Don't  blame  ye.  He's  a 
mighty  humble  critter." 

"He's  the  best  man  in  the  world,"  said  Yvette,  softly, 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    273 

"and  I  love  him  .  .  .  and  that — that's  why  I'm  going.  I 
can't  stay  and  make  him  miserable." 

Scattergood  studied  her  face  a  moment,  and  cleared  his 
throat  noisily.  "Hum! ...  I  swan  to  man!  Goin',  be  ye? 
.  .  .  Mebby  that's  best.  .  .  .  But  they  hain't  no  sich  hurry. 
Be  out  of  a  job,  won't  ye?  Uh-huh!  Wa-al,  you  stay  till 
Thursday  mornin'  and  kind  of  visit  with  Homer,  and  say 
good-by,  and  then  you  kin  go.  Thursday  mornin'.  .  .  . 
Not  a  minute  before." 

"But—" 

"Thursday  mornin's  the  time,  I  said.  .  .  .  G'-by." 

Next  morning  Scattergood  was  absent.  He  had  taken 
the  early  train  out  of  town,  as  Pliny  Pickett  reported,  on 
a  "whoppin'  big  deal  that  come  up  suddin  in  the  night." 
It  appeared  that  for  once  Scattergood  had  allowed  busi- 
ness to  distract  him  wholly  from  his  favorite  occupation 
of  meddling  in  other  folks'  affairs.  .  .  .  Nobody  saw  him 
return,  for  he  drove  into  town  late  Wednesday  afternoon 
and  went  directly  to  his  home. 

For  forty-eight  hours  during  his  absence  rumor  had 
spread  and  increased  its  girth  to  astounding  dimensions. 
Old  Man  Bogle  had  released  his  story.  He  now  recollected 
Yvette  perfectly,  and  when  not  restrained  by  the  modesty 
of  some  person  of  the  opposite  sex,  he  described  her  cos- 
tume in  the  play  with  minute  detail.  Hourly  he  remem- 
bered more  and  more,  and  the  mouth-to-ear  repetitions 
of  his  tale  embellished  it  with  details  even  Old  Man 
Bogle's  imagination  could  not  have  encompassed.  .  .  . 
Before  Wednesday  night  Yvette  had  arisen  in  the  esti- 
mation of  the  village  to  an  eminence  of  evil  never  before 
attained  by  any  visitor  to  Coldriver. 

Jason  Locker  forbade  his  son  his  home  if  ever  he  were 
seen  in  the  hussy's  company  again,  and  Homer  left  by 
the  front  door.  .  .  .  He  announced  his  purpose  of  journey- 
ing to  the  South  Seas  or  New  York,  or  some  other  equally 


274  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

strange  and  dangerous  shore.  The  town  seethed.  It  had 
been  years  since  any  local  sensation  approached  this  high 
moment.  ...  At  half  past  six  Pliny  Pickett,  Scattergood's 
right-hand  man  and  general  errand  boy,  was  seen  to 
approach  Homer  on  the  street  and  to  whisper  to  him. 
Pliny  always  enshrouded  his  most  matter-of-fact  errands 
with  voluminous  mystery.  "Scattergood  wants  you 
sh'u'd  see  him  right  off,"  he  said,  and  tiptoed  away. 

Another  sensation  occurred  that  evening.  Scattergood 
Baines  went  to  prayer  meeting  in  the  Methodist  church. 
When  word  of  this  was  passed  about,  the  Baptists  and 
Congos  deserted  their  places  of  worship  in  whispering 
groups  and  invaded  the  rival  edifice  until  it  was  crowded 
as  it  had  seldom  been  before.  Scattergood  in  prayer 
meeting!  Scattergood,  who  had  never  been  inside  a  church 
since  the  day  of  his  arrival  in  Coldriver,  forty  years  before. 
.  .  .  Even  Yvette  Hinchbrooke  and  her  affairs  sank  into 
insignificance. 

But  the  amazing  presence  of  Scattergood  in  church  was 
as  nothing  to  the  epochal  fact  that,  after  the  prayer  and 
hymn,  he  was  seen  slowly  to  get  to  his  feet.  Scattergood 
Baines  was  going  to  lift  up  his  voice  in  meeting! 

"Folks,"  he  said,  "I've  knowed  Coldriver  for  quite  a 
spell.  I've  knowed  its  good  and  its  bad,  but  the  good 
outweighs  the  bad  by  a  darn  sight."  The  congregation 
gasped. 

"I  run  on  to  a  case  to-day,"  he  said,  and  then  paused, 
apparently  thinking  better  of  what  he  was  going  to  say 
and  taking  another  course.  "They's  one  great  way  to 
reach  folks's  hearts  and  that's  through  their  sympathy. 
All  of  you  give  up  to  furrin  missions  to  rescue  naked  fellers 
with  rings  in  their  noses.  That's  sympathy,  hain't  it? 
Mebby  they  hain't  needin'  sympathy  and  cast-off  pants, 
but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  You  think  they  do. 
.  .  .  Coldriver's  great  on  sympathy,  and  it's  a  doggone 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT    275 

upstandin'  quality."  Again  the  audience  sucked  in  its 
breath  at  this  approach  to  the  language  of  everyday  life. 

"If  I  was  wantin'  to  stir  up  your  sympathy,  I'd  tell 
you  about  a  leetle  feller  I  seen  yestiddy.  Mebby  I  will. 
He  wa'n't  no  naked  heathen,  and  he  didn't  have  no  ring 
into  his  nose.  He  was  jest  a  boy.  Uh-huh!  Calc'late  he 
might  'a'  been  ten  year  old.  Couldn't  walk  a  step. 
Suthin'  ailed  his  laigs,  and  he  had  to  lay  around  in  a  chair 
in  one  of  these  here  kind  of  cheap  horspittles.  Alone  he 
was.  Didn't  have  no  pa  nor  ma.  .  .  .  But  he  had  to  be 
looked  after  by  somebody,  didn't  he?  Somebody  had  to 
pay  them  bills." 

Scattergood  blew  his  nose  gustily.  "Mebby  he  could 
V  been  cured  if  they  was  money  to  pay  for  costly  doctorin', 
but  they  wa'n't.  It  took  all  that  could  be  got  jest  to  pay 
for  his  food  and  keep.  .  .  .  Patient  leetle  feller,  too,  and 
gentlelike  and  cheerful.  Kind  of  took  to  him,  I  did." 

He  paused,  turned  slowly,  and  surveyed  the  congrega- 
tion, and  frowned  at  the  door  of  the  church.  He  coughed. 
He  waited.  The  congregation  turned,  following  his  eyes, 
and  saw  Mandy,  Scattergood's  ample-bosomed  wife,  enter, 
bearing  in  her  arms  the  form  of  a  child.  She  walked  to 
Scattergood's  pew  and  handed  the  boy  to  him.  Scatter- 
good  held  the  child  high,  so  all  could  see. 

He  was  a  red-haired  little  fellow,  white  and  thin  of  face, 
with  pipe-stem  legs  that  dangled  pitifully. 

"I  fetched  him  along,"  said  Scattergood.  "I  wisht 
you'd  look  him  over." 

The  audience  craned  its  neck,  exclaiming,  dropping  tears. 
The  heart  of  Coldriver  was  well  protected,  it  fancied,  by 
an  exterior  of  harshness  and  suspicion,  but  Coldriver  was 
wrong.  Its  heart  lay  near  the  surface,  easy  of  access,  warm, 
tender,  sympathetic.  "This  is  him,"  said  Scattergood. 

He  turned  his  face  to  the  child.  "Sonny,"  he  said, 
kindly,  "you  hain't  got  no  pa  nor  ma?" 


276  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  little  fellow. 

"And  you  live  in  one  of  them  horspittles?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  costs  money?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  do  you  git  it,  sonny?   Tell  the  folks." 

"Sister,"  said  the  child.  "She's  awful  good  to  me. 
When  she  kin,  she  stays  whole  days  with  me,  but  she  can't 
stay  much  on  account  of  havin'  to  earn  money  to  pay  for 
me.  It  takes  'most  all  she  earns.  .  .  .  She's  had  to  do 
kinds  of  work  she  don't  like,  on  account  of  it  earnin'  more 
money  than  nice  jobs.  We're  savin'  to  have  me  cured, 
and  then  I'm  goin'  to  go  to  work  and  keep  her.  I  got  it 
all  planned  out  while  I  was  layin'  there." 

"Is  your  sister  a  bad  woman?" 

"Nobody  dast  say  that,  even  if  I  hain't  got  legs.  I'd 
grab  somethin'  and  throw  it  at  'em." 

"Was  this  here  sister  ever  one  of  them  actoresses?" 

"Once,  when  I  was  sicker  'n  usual  ...  it  was  awful 
costly.  That  time  she  was  in  a  show,  'cause  she  got  more 
money  there.  She  got  enough  to  pay  for  what  I  needed." 

"Wear  tights,  sonny?    Calc'late  she  wore  tights?" 

"Sure.  She  told  me.  She  said  to  me  it  wasn't  wearin' 
tights  that  done  harm,  and  she  could  be  jest  as  good  in 
tights  as  wearin'  a  fur  coat  if  her  heart  wasn't  bad. 
That's  what  she  said.  Yes,  sir,  she  said  she  wouldn't 
wear  nothin'  if  it  had  to  be  done  to  git  me  medicine." 

"Urn! ...  What's  this  here  sister's  name?" 

"Eva  Hopkins." 

Scattergood  turned  again  toward  the  door.  "Homer," 
he  called,  and  Homer  Locker  entered,  almost  dragging 
Yvette  by  the  arm.  .  .  .  The  congregation  heard  one 
sound.  It  was  a  glad,  childish  cry.  "Eva!  .  .  .  Eva!  .  .  . 
Here  I  am." 

Then  it  saw  Yvette  Hinchbrooke  wrench  free  from 


HE  CRACKS  AN  OBDURATE  NUT   277 

Homer  and  run  down  the  aisle  to  snatch  the  child  from 
Scattergood's  arms  into  her  own. 

Scattergood  stood  erect,  looking  from  face  to  face  in 
silence.  It  was  a  full  minute  before  he  spoke. 

"There  .  .  ."  he  said.  "You  kin  see  the  evil  of  passin' 
jedgments.  You  kin  see  the  evil  of  old  coots  traffickin'  hi 
rumors.  .  .  .  What  you've  heard  the  boy  tell  is  all  true. 
.  .  .  That's  the  girl  you  was  ready  to  tar  and  feather  and 
run  out  of  town.  . . .  Now  what  you  think  of  yourselves?" 

It  was  Deacon  Pettybone,  blinking  a  mist  from  his 
watery  blue  eyes,  who  arose  to  the  moment.  "Folks," 
he  said,  huskily,  "I'm  goin'  to  pass  among  you  directly, 
carryin'  the  collection  plate.  'Tain't  fer  furrin  missions. 
It's  fer  that  child  yonder — to  git  them  legs  fixed.  .  .  . 
And  standin'  here  I  want  to  acknowledge  to  sin  in  public. 
I  been  hard,  and  lackin'  in  charity.  I  been  passin'  jedg- 
ments, contrairy  to  God's  word.  I  been  stiff-backed  and 
obdurate,  and  I  calc'late  they's  others  a-sittin'  here  that 
needs  prayers  for  forgiveness.  .  .  .  Now  I'm  a-comin'  with 
the  plate.  Them  that  hain't  prepared  to  give  to-night 
kin  whisper  to  me  what  they'll  give  to-morrer — and  have 
no  fear  of  my  forgittin'  the  amounts  they  pledge.  .  .  . 
And  I'm  askin'  forgiveness  of  the  young  woman  and 
hopin'  she  won't  hold  it  ag'in'  an  old  man — when  she 
settles  down  here  amongst  us,  like  I  hope  she'll  do." 

"Like  she's  a-goin'  to  do,"  said  Jason  Locker,  with  a 
voice  and  ah*  of  pride.  "Why,  folks,  that  there  gal  is 
goin'  to  be  my  daughter-in-law!" 

Scattergood  patted  Yvette  on  the  back  heavily,  but 
jubilantly.  "I've  diskivered,"  he  said,  "that  if  you  can't 
crack  a  hick'ry  nut  with  a  pad  of  butter,  you  better  use  a 
hammer.  .  .  .  Sometimes  Coldriver's  a  nut  needin'  a  sledge 
— but  when  it  cracks  it's  full  of  meat." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK   OP  LIFE 

OCATTERGOOD  BAINES  lounged  back  in  his  arm- 
**J  chair,  reinforced  by  iron  crosspieces  to  sustain  his 
weight,  and  basked  in  the  warmth  from  the  Round  Oak 
stove,  heated  to  redness  by  the  clean,  dry  maple  within. 
He  was  drowsy.  For  the  time  he  had  ceased  even  to  search 
for  a  scheme  whereby  he  could  rid  his  hardware  stock  of 
one  dozen  sixteen-pound  sledge  hammers  acquired  by  him 
at  a  recent  auction  down  in  Tupper  Falls.  His  eyes  were 
closed  and  his  soul  was  at  peace. 

Somebody  rattled  the  door  knob  and  then  rapped  on 
the  door.  This  was  so  unusual  a  method  of  seeking  en- 
trance to  a  hardware  store  that  Scattergood  sat  up 
abruptly,  blinking. 

"Wa-al,"  he  said,  tartly,  "be  you  comin'  in,  or  be  you 
goin'  to  stand  out  there  wagglin'  that  door  knob  all  day?" 

"I'm  coming  in,  Mr.  Baines,  as  soon  as  I  can  contrive 
to  open  the  door,"  replied  a  male  voice,  a  voice  that  ap- 
peared incapable  of  expressing  impatience;  a  gentle  voice; 
the  voice  of  a  man  who  would  dream  dreams  but  perform 
few  actions. 

"Um! .  .  .  It's  you,  hey?  What  d'you  allus  carry  books 
under  your  arm  for?  How  d'you  calc'late  to  be  able  to 
open  doors,  with  both  hands  full?" 

The  knob  turned  at  last,  and  Nahum  Pound,  long 
schoolmaster  in  the  little  district  school  on  Hiper  Hill, 
came  in  hesitatingly,  clutching  with  each  arm  half  a  dozen 
books  which  struggled  to  escape  with  the  ingenuity  of 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        279 

inanimate  objects.  Nahum's  hair  was  white;  his  face  was 
vague— lovably  vague.  ...  A  man  of  considerable,  if  con- 
fused, learning,  he  was. 

"Well?"  said  Scattergood.  "Got  suthin'  on  to  your 
mind?  Commence  unloadin'  it  before  it  busts  your  back." 

"It's  Sarah,"  said  Nahum,  helplessly. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Sairy,  eh?    What's  Sairy  up  to?" 

"I  don't  seem  to  gather,  Mr.  Baines.  She's — she's  dif- 
ficult. Something  seems  to  be  working  in  her  head." 

"Twenty-two,  hain't  she?  Twenty-two?  .  .  .  Prob'ly 
a  number  of  things  a-workin'  in  her  head.  Got  any 
special  symptoms?" 

"She — she  wants  to  leave  home,  Mr.  Baines."  Nahum 
said  this  with  mild  amazement.  His  amazement  would 
have  been  no  greater — and  not  a  whit  less  mild — had  his 
daughter  announced  her  intention  to  swim  from  New  York 
to  Liverpool,  or  to  marry  the  chef  of  the  Czar  of  Russia. 

"Um! .  .  .  Can't  say's  that's  onnatural — so's  to  require 
callin'  in  a  doctor.  Live  five  mile  from  town,  don't  you? 
Nearest  neighbor  nigh  on  to  a  mile.  Sairy  gits  to  see  com- 
pany only  about  so  often  or  not  so  seldom  as  that,  eh?" 
Scattergood  shut  his  eyes  until  there  appeared  at  the  cor- 
ners of  them  a  network  of  little  wrinkles.  "I'm  a-goin' 
to  astonish  you,  Nahum.  This  here  hain't  the  first  girl 
that  ever  come  down  with  the  complaint  Sairy 's  got!  .  .  . 
They's  been  sev'ral.  Complaint's  older  'n  you  or  me.  .  .  . 
Dum  near  as  old  as  Deacon  Pettybone.  Uh-huh!  .  .  . 
She's  got  a  attack  of  life,  Nahum,  and  the  only  cure  for 
it  ever  discovered  is  to  let  her  live.  .  .  .  Sairy's  woke  up 
out  of  childhood,  Nahum.  She's  jest  openin'  her  eyes. 
Perty  soon  she'll  be  stirrin'  around  brisk.  .  .  .  When  you 
goin'  to  drive  her  in,  Nahum?  To-morrer?" 

"You — you  advise  letting  her  do  this  thing?" 

"When  you  goin'  to  fetch  her  in,  Nahum?"  Scatter- 
good  repeated. 

19 


280  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"She  said  she  was  coming  Monday." 

"Urn!  .  .  .  G'-by,  Nahum."  This  was  Scattergood's 
invariable  phrase  of  dismissal,  given  to  friend  or  enemy 
alike.  It  was  characteristic  of  him  that  when  he  was 
through  with  a  conversation  he  ended  it — and  left  no 
doubt  in  anybody's  mind  that  it  was  ended.  Nahum  with- 
drew apologetically.  Scattergood  called  after  him,  "Fetch 
her  here — to  me,"  he  said,  and,  automatically,  it  seemed, 
reached  for  the  laces  of  his  shoes.  A  problem  had  been 
presented  to  him  which  required  a  deal  of  solving,  and 
Scattergood  could  not  concentrate  with  toes  imprisoned 
in  leather.  He  even  removed  the  white  woolen  socks 
which  Mandy,  his  wife,  compelled  him  to  wear  in  the 
winter  season.  Presently  he  was  twiddling  his  pudgy 
toes  and  concentrating  on  Sarah  Pound.  He  waggled 
his  head.  "After  livin'  out  there,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "she'll  think  Coldriver's  livin'— and  so  'tis,  so 
'tis.  .  .  .  More  sometimes  'n  'tis  others.  Calc'late  this 
is  like  to  be  one  of  'em.  .  .  ." 

Scattergood  was  just  thinking  about  dinner  on  Monday 
when  Nahum  Pound  brought  his  daughter  Sarah  into  the 
store.  One  glance  at  Sarah's  face  taught  Scattergood  that 
she  was  in  suspicious,  if  not  defiant,  mood.  If  he  had  a 
doubt  of  the  correctness  of  his  observation,  Sarah  removed 
it  efficiently. 

"Scattergood  Baines,"  she  said,  "if  you  think  you're 
going  to  boss  me  like  you  do  father,  and  everybody  else 
in  this  town,  you're  mistaken.  I  won't  have  it.  ...  Under- 
stand that,  I  won't  have  it." 

Scattergood  rubbed  his  chin  and  puffed  out  his  fat 
cheeks,  and  smiled  with  deceiving  mildness.  "Sairy,"  he 
said,  "you  needn't  to  be  scairt  of  my  interferin'  with  you 
in  your  goin's  and  comin's.  I'd  sooner  stick  my  hand 
into  a  kittle  of  b'ilin'  pitch  than  to  meddle  with  a  young 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        281 

woman  in  your  state  of  mind.  ...  I  hain't  hankerin'  to 
raise  no  blisters." 

"I  won't  stay  penned  up  'way  out  there  in  the  country 
another  day.  I've  got  a  right  to  live.  I've  got  a  right  to 
see  folks  and  to  go  places,  and — to — to  live!" 

"To  be  sure.  .  .  .  To  be  sure.  Jest  itchin'  to  kick  the 
top  bar  off'n  the  pasture  fence.  Most  certain  you  got  a 
right  to  live,  and  nobody  hain't  goin'  to  hender  you  .  .  . 
least  of  all  me.  But  there's  jest  one  observation  I'd  sort 
of  like  to  let  loose  of,  and  that's  this:  Your  life's  a  whole 
lot  like  one  of  your  arms  and  legs — easy  busted.  To  be 
sure,  it  kin  be  put  in  splints  and  mended  up  ag'in,  but 
maybe  you'll  go  limpy  or  knit  crooked  so's  nothin'  kin 
keep  the  busted  place  from  showin'.  Bearin'  that  in  mind, 
if  I  was  you,  I  wouldn't  be  too  careless  about  scramblin' 

up  into  places  where  you  was  apt  to  git  a  fall I  calc'late, 

Sairy,  that  it's  better  to  miss  the  view  than  to  fall  out  of 
the  tree " 

"  I'm  going  to  see  the  view  if  I  fall  out  of  every  tree  I 
climb,"  Sarah  said,  hotly. 

"Don't  object  if  I  find  you  a  boardin'  house?" 

"I'm  going  to  board  with  Grandma  Penny  that  was — 
Mrs.  Spackles." 

Scattergood  nodded.  "G'-by,  Sairy. . . .  G'-by,  Nahum." 
He  watched  father  and  daughter  leave  the  store  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes,  not  a  twinkle  of  humor,  but  the  twinkle 
that  always  came  when  his  interest  in  life,  always  keen, 
was  aroused  to  a  point  where  it  tingled.  "Calc'late  to 
be  kep'  busy — more  'n  ordinary  busy,"  he  offered  as  an 
opinion  to  be  digested  by  the  Round  Oak  stove.  Pres- 
ently he  added:  "She's  perty  .  .  .  and  bein'  perty  is  kind 
of  a  remarkable  thing  .  .  .  bein'  perty  and  young.  .  .  . 
Don't  seem  like  God  ought  to  hold  folks  accountable  fer 
bein'  young,  nor  yet  fer  bein'  good  to  look  at  ...  but 
they's  times  when  it  seems  like  He  does.  .  .  ." 


282  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

On  his  way  back  to  the  store  after  dinner,  Scattergood 
stopped  at  the  bank  corner,  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
mounted  the  stairs  to  the  offices  above.  A  door  bearing 
the  legend,  "Robert  Allen,  Attorney  at  Law,"  admitted 
him  to  a  large,  bare  office,  such  as  one  finds  in  such  towns 
as  Coldriver. 

"Howdy,  Bob?"  said  Scattergood. 

"Good  day,  Mr.  Baines,"  said  the  young  man  behind 
the  desk,  who  had  suddenly  pretended  to  be  very  much 
occupied  with  important  matters  as  his  door  opened. 

"Urn! .  .  .  Busy  time,  eh?    Better  come  back  later." 

"No.  No,  indeed.  Take  this  chair  right  here,  Mr. 
Baines.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Depends.  Uh-huh!  Depends.  .  .  .  Calc'late  to  make 
a  perty  good  livin',  Bob?" 

"No  complaints." 

"Studied  it  yourself,  didn't  you — out  of  books?  No 
college?" 

"Yes." 

"Hard  work,  wasn't  it?    Mighty  hard  work?" 

"It  might  have  been  easier,"  said  Bob,  wondering  what 
Scattergood  was  getting  at. 

"Like  to  be  prosecutin'  attorney  for  this  county,  Bob?" 

Prosecuting  attorney!  With  a  salary  of  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars  a  year — and  the  prestige!  Bob  strove 
valiantly  to  maintain  a  look  of  dignified  interest,  but  with 
ill  success. 

"I — I  might  consider  it.    Yes,  I  would  consider  it." 

"Una!  .  .  .  Figgered  you  would,"  said  Scattergood, 
dryly.  "Hain't  got  no  help  in  the  office,"  he  observed. 
"Need  some,  don't  you?  Somebody  to  write  letters  and 
sort  of  look  after  things,  eh?" 

"Why — er —    I've  never  thought  about  it." 

"If  you  was  to  think  about  it,  you'd  calc'late  on  payin' 
about  six  dollars  a  week,  wouldn't  you?" 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        283 

Bob  swallowed  hard.  Six  dollars  a  week  was  a  great 
deal  of  money  to  this  young  man,  just  embarking  on  the 
practice  of  his  profession.  "Guess  that  would  be  about 
right,"  he  said. 

"Got  anybody  in  mind,  Bob?  Thinkin'  of  anybody 
specific  for  the  place?" 

Bob  shook  his  head. 

"Urn!  .  .  .  Nahum  Pound's  daughter's  boardin'  with 
Grandma  Penny,  that's  now  Mis'  Spackles.  All-fired 
perty  girl,  Bob.  Don't  call  to  mind  no  pertier.  Sairy's 
her  name G'-by,  Bob.  G'-by." 

He  walked  to  the  door,  but  paused.  "About  that  six 
dollars,  Bob — I  was  figgerin'  on  payin'  that  out  of  my  own 
pocket." 

Bob  Allen  was  not  accustomed  to  the  oversight  of  em- 
ployees— least  of  all  to  an  employee  who  was  very  satis- 
fying to  look  at,  who  was  winsomely  young,  whose  mere 
presence  distracted  his  thoughts  from  that  rigorous  con- 
centration upon  the  logical  principles  of  the  law.  .  .  .  He 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  Sarah  once  he  had  hired 
her,  and  it  required  so  much  of  his  time  and  brain  power 
to  think  up  something  for  her  to  do  that  it  is  fortunate 
his  practice  was  neither  large  nor  arduous.  It  is  no  mean 
tribute  to  the  young  man  that  he  kept  Sarah  so  busy 
with  apparently  necessary  matters  that  she  had  no  occa- 
sion to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  her  employment. 

Bob  faced  a  second  difficulty,  due  to  his  inexperience, 
and  that  was  that  he  was  at  a  loss  how  to  comport  himself 
toward  Sarah,  as  to  how  friendly  he  should  be,  and  as  to 
how  much  he  should  maintain  a  certain  grave  dignity  and 
reserve  in  his  dealings  with  her.  This  was  a  matter  which 
need  not  have  troubled  him,  for  Nature  has  a  way  of  taking 
into  her  own  keeping  the  bearing  of  young  men  toward 
young  women  when  the  two  are  thrown  much  into  each 
other's  company.  Propinquity  is  a  tremendous  force  in 


284  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

the  life  of  humanity.  It  has  caused  as  many  love  affairs 
as  the  kicking  of  other  men's  dogs  has  caused  street  fights 
— which  numbers  into  infinity.  Consequently,  while  Bob 
worried  much  and  selected  a  number  of  widely  differing 
attitudes — a  thing  which  caused  Sarah  some  uneasiness 
and  no  little  speculation  as  to  what  sort  of  disposition  her 
employer  possessed — the  solution  lay  not  with  him  at  all. 
It  took  care  of  itself. 

Scattergood  noted  the  significance  of  symptoms.  He 
made  a  mental  memorandum  of  the  fact  that  Bob  Allen 
was  seldom  to  be  seen  among  the  post-office  loafers;  that 
Bob  preferred  his  office  to  any  other  spot;  that  Bob  had 
ordered  a  new  suit  from  a  city  tailor;  that  Bob  wore  a 
constant  air  of  anxiety  and  excitement,  and — most  ex- 
pressive symptom  of  all  for  a  Coldriver  young  man — he 
became  interested  in  residence  property,  in  lots,  and  in 
the  cost  of  erecting  dwellings.  .  .  .  Scattergood  looked  in 
vain  for  reciprocal  symptoms  to  be  shown  by  Sarah.  But 
Sarah  was  a  woman.  What  symptoms  she  exhibited 
were  meaningless  even  to  Scattergood. 

"Bob,"  said  Scattergood,  one  auspicious  day,  "got  any 
pref'rence  for  prosecutin'  attorneys — married  or  single?" 

"It  depends,"  said  Bob,  cautiously. 

"Um!  .  .  .  How's  Sairy  behavin',  Bob?" 

"She's — she's — "  Bob  became  incoherent,  and  then 
speechless. 

"Calc'late  I  foller  you,  Bob.  .  .  .  Git  your  point  of  view 
exact.  .  .  .  About  prosecutin'  attorneys,  Bob,  I  prefer  'em 
married." 

"Mr.  Barnes,"  said  Bob,  "if  I  could  get  Sarah  Pound 
to  marry  me,  I  wouldn't  give  a  tinker's  dam  who  was 
prosecutor." 

"Mishandlin'  of  fact  sim'lar  to  that,"  said  Scattergood, 
dryly,  "has  been  done  nigh  on  to  a  billion  times.  .  .  .  Any 
idee  how  Sairy  stands  on  sich  a  proposition?" 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        285 

"She's  about  equally  fond  of  me  and  the  letter  press," 
said  Bob,  dolefully. 

"Good  sign,"  said  Scattergood.  Then  after  a  short 
pause:  "Say,  Bob,  still  rent  out  drivin'  bosses  at  the 
livery?  .  .  .  G'-by,  Bob." 

Bob  was  astonished  to  find  how  easy  it  is  to  ask  a  girl 
to  go  driving  the  second  time — after  you  have  spent  an 
anxious,  dubious,  fearsome  day  screwing  up  your  courage 
to  ask  her  the  first  time.  He  was  delighted,  too,  because 
he  even  fancied  Sarah  now  discriminated  between  him 
and  the  letter  press — in  his  favor.  Bob  came  fresh  and 
unsophisticated  to  the  business  in  hand,  which  was  court- 
ship. Sarah  had  never  before  been  courted,  but  she  recog- 
nized a  courtship  when  she  saw  it  at  such  close  range,  and 
found  it  delightfully  exciting.  Bob  did  his  clumsy,  ear- 
nest, honest  best,  and  Sarah,  somewhat  to  her  surprise, 
became  more  satisfied  with  the  universe  and  with  her 
share  in  its  destinies.  ...  In  short,  matters  were  progress- 
ing as  nature  intended  they  should  progress,  and  Scatter- 
good  felt  almost  that  they  might  be  trusted  to  go  forward 
to  a  satisfactory  denouement  without  his  interference. 

Then  old  Solon  Beatty  died! 

This  solved  one  of  Bob  Allen's  problems;  it  furnished 
plenty  of  authentic  work  for  Sarah  Pound— for  Bob  was 
retained  as  attorney  for  old  Solon's  estate,  which  he  found 
to  be  in  an  amazing  state  of  confusion.  Old  Solon  left 
behind  him,  reluctantly,  property  of  divers  kinds,  and  in 
numerous  localities,  valued  at  upward  of  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars,  split  and  invested  into  as  many  enterprises 
and  mortgages  and  savings  accounts  as  there  were  dollars! 
This  made  work.  There  were  papers  to  sort  and  list,  to 
file  and  to  schedule — clerical  work  hi  abundance.  It  inter- 
fered with  the  more  important  business  of  courtship,  but 
even  in  this  respect  it  was  not  without  a  certain  value. 

"Who's  going  to  get  all  this  money?"  Sarah  asked,  one 


286  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

morning  after  she  had  been  listing  mortgages  until  her 
head  ached  with  the  sight  of  figures  and  descriptions. 
"Does  Mary  Beatty  get  it  all?" 

"Not  unless  we  find  a  will  somewhere.  Everybody 
thought  Solon's  niece — which  is  Mary  Beatty — would  get 
the  whole  estate.  Solon  intended  it  should  go  that  way, 
and  the  Lord  knows  she's  worked  for  him  and  nursed  him 
and  coddled  him  enough  to  deserve  it.  Gave  her  whole 
life  up  to  the  old  codger.  . . .  But  we  can't  find  a  will,  and 
so  she  won't  get  but  half.  The  rest  goes  to  Solon's  nephew, 
Farley  Curtis  .  .  .  under  the  statute  of  descent  and  dis- 
tribution, you  know,"  he  finished,  learnedly. 

"Farley  Curtis.  ...  I  never  heard  of  him." 

"He's  never  been  here — at  least  not  for  years.  But 
he'll  be  along  now.  We're  due  to  see  him  soon." 

"  Correct,"  said  a  voice  from  the  door,  which  had  opened 
silently.  In  it  stood  a  young  man  of  dress  and  demeanor 
not  indigenous  to  Coldriver.  "You're  due  to  see  Farley 
Curtis — so  you  behold  him.  Look  me  over  carefully.  I 
was  due — therefore  I  arrive."  The  young  man  laughed 
pleasantly,  as  if  he  intended  his  words  to  be  regarded  as 
whimsical,  yet,  somehow,  Bob  felt  the  whimsicality  to  be 
surface  deep;  that  Curtis  was  a  young  man  with  much 
confidence  in  himself,  who  felt  that  if  he  were  due  he  would 
inevitably  arrive. 

"Mr.  Allen,  I  suppose,"  said  Curtis,  extending  his 
hand.  "  I  am  told  you  are  handling  the  legal  affairs  of  my 
late  uncle's  estate." 

Sarah  Pound  eyed  the  newcomer,  and  as  the  young 
men  shook  hands  compared  them,  to  Bob  Allen's  disad- 
vantage. To  inexperience  any  comparison  must  be  to 
Bob's  disadvantage,  for  Curtis  was  handsome,  dressed 
with  taste,  and  gifted  with  a  worldly  certainty  of  manner 
and  an  undeniable  charm.  Sarah  had  never  encountered 
all  these  attributes  in  a  single  individual.  She  drew  on 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        287 

her  reading  of  fiction  and  knew  at  once  that  she  was  in 
the  presence  of  that  wonderful  creature  she  had  seen  de- 
scribed so  frequently — a  gentleman.  As  for  Bob  Allen, 
he  was  big,  rugged,  careless  of  dress,  kindly,  without  pre- 
tense of  polish.  .  .  .  And  besides,  to  Curtis's  advantage 
there  attached  to  him  a  certain  literary  glamour — of  heir- 
ship — and  a  mystery  due  to  his  sudden  appearance  out 
of  the  great  unknown  that  lay  beyond  the  confines  of 
Coldriver. 

"I  am  in  the  dark,"  said  Curtis.  "All  I  know  is  that 
Uncle  Solon  is  dead.  It  is  proper  I  should  come  to  you  for 
information,  is  it  not?  For  instance,  there  is  no  harm  in 
asking  if  there  is  a  will?" 

"None  has  been  found,"  said  Bob,  not  graciously.  He 
had  taken  a  dislike  to  this  stranger  instinctively,  a  dislike 
which  increased  at  an  amazing  pace  as  he  noted  Curtis's 
eyes  cast  admiring  glances  upon  Sarah  Pound. 

"In  which  case,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  suppose  I  may 
regard  myself  as  an  interested  party." 

"Yourself  and  Miss  Beatty  are  the  heirs — so  far  as  has 
been  determined." 

"You  have  searched  all  my  uncle's  papers?" 

"We  have  gone  through  them,  but  not  so  thoroughly  as 
to  reach  a  final  conclusion.  He  was  a  peculiar  old  man." 

"And  no  will  has  been  found?  No — other  papers — " 
Curtis  smiled  deprecatingly.  "It  is  only  natural  I  should 
be  interested,"  he  said,  and  smiled  at  Sarah. 

"Was  there  anything  special  you  wanted  to  ask?" 

"Only  if  there  was  a  will — or  other  paper."  There  was 
a  curious  hesitation  in  Farley  Curtis's  voice  as  he  spoke 
the  last  two  words.  "I'm  glad,  of  course,  there's  not. 
.  .  .  Thank  you.  Think  I'll  stay  in  town  till  the  thing  is 
settled  up.  Probably  see  you  often.  Pleased  to  have 
met  you."  He  included  Sarah  in  the  bow  with  which  he 
took  his  leave. 


288  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

For  a  few  days  Farley  Curtis  lived  at  the  Coldriver 
House,  then  moved  to  Grandmother  Penny's,  where  Sarah 
Pound  boarded.  Secretly  Bob  Allen  was  furious,  without 
apparent  cause.  He  had  no  reason  to  draw  conclusions, 
for  boarding  houses  were  scarce  in  Coldriver.  What  Sarah 
thought  of  the  event  was  not  so  easily  discovered. 

Bob  would  naturally  have  discussed  immediately  the 
significance  of  Farley  Curtis's  arrival  in  Coldriver,  with 
Scattergood,  for  everybody  in  Coldriver  went  to  Scatter- 
good  with  whatever  important  occurrence  that  befell,  but 
Scattergood  was  absent  on  a  political  mission.  When  he 
returned  Bob  lost  no  tune  in  laying  the  matter  before  him. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Calc'lated  he'd  turn  up.  Natural.  .  .  . 
Acted  kind  of  anxious,  eh?  What  was  it  he  said  about  a 
will — or  somethin'?" 

Bob  repeated  Curtis's  conversation  minutely. 

"Um!  .  .  .  That  young  man  didn't  suspect — he  knew" 
said  Scattergood,  reaching  automatically  for  his  shoes. 
"What  he  wanted  to  know  was — has  it  been  found?  .  .  . 
Um!  .  .  .  Not  a  will.  Somethin'.  Somethin'  he's  afraid 
of  bein'  found.  .  .  .  Hain't  the  kind  of  feller  I'd  like  to  see 
spendin'  old  Solon's  money.  .  .  .  Guess  you  and  me  '11  go 
through  them  papers  ag'in." 

So  with  minute  care  Bob  and  Scattergood  examined 
the  documents  and  memoranda  and  receipts  and  accounts 
of  Solon  Beatty,  but  no  will,  no  minute  reference  to  Farley 
Curtis,  was  discovered.  They  went  again  to  Solon's  house 
to  question  Mary  and  to  rummage  there  with  the  hope  of 
falling  upon  some  such  hiding  place  as  the  queer  old  man 
might  have  chosen  as  the  safe  depository  of  his  will.  Mary 
Beatty  was  not  helpful;  middle-aged,  with  wasted  youth 
behind  her;  she  was  even  resentful  that  her  meticulous 
housekeeping  should  be  disturbed. 

Scattergood  and  Bob  sat  down  in  the  parlor,  discour- 
aged. It  was  evident  there  was  no  will.  Solon  had 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        289 

neglected  to  attend  to  that  matter  until  it  was  too  late. 
.  .  .  Scattergood  wiggled  his  feet  uneasily  and  stared  at 
the  motto  over  the  door. 

"Solon  didn't  run  much  to  religion,"  he  observed. 

"No,"  said  Mary  Beatty. 

"Um!  .  .  .  Have  a  Bible,  maybe?  One  of  them  big 
ones?" 

"Up  in  his  room,  Mr.  Baines.  It  always  laid  on  the 
table  there — unopened." 

"Opened  it  yourself  lately,  Mary?  Been  readin'  the 
Scriptures  out  of  that  p'tie'lar  book?" 

"No." 

"Um! .  .  .  Got  a  kind  of  a  hankerin'  to  read  a  verse  or 
two,"  said  Scattergood.  "Come  on,  Bob.  You  'n'  me  '11 
peruse  Solon's  Bible  some." 

The  huge  Bible  with  its  Dore  illustrations  lay  on  the 
marble-topped  table  in  old  Solon's  bedroom.  Scattergood 
opened  it — found  it  stiff  with  lack  of  use,  its  pages  clinging 
together  as  if  their  gilt  edging  had  never  been  broken. 
. . .  Bob  leaned  over  Scattergood  while  the  old  man  rapidly 
thumbed  the  pages.  ...  He  brought  to  light  a  pressed 
flower,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  What  moment  of 
softness  in  the  life  of  a  hard  old  man  did  this  flower  com- 
memorate? ...  A  letter  whose  ink  was  faded  to  illegibility! 
Even  Solon  Beatty  had  once  known  the  rose-leaf  scent  of 
romance. 

"Nothing  there,"  said  Bob. 

"The  reason  folks  seldom  find  things,"  said  Scatter- 
good,  "is  that  they  say  'Nothin'  there'  before  they've 
half  looked.  .  .  .  They  might  be  any  quantity  of  things  in 
this  Bible  that  we  hain't  overhauled  yet."  The  old  man 
stood  a  moment  frowning  down  at  the  book.  "Births  and 
deaths,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Births  and  deaths — and 
marryin's.  . . ."  Rapidly  he  turned  to  the  illumined  pages 
on  which  were  set  down  the  family  records  of  the  Beattys. 


290  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"Urn!  .  .  .  Jest  sich  a  place  as  he'd  pick  out.  .  .  .  What 
you  make  of  this,  Bob?" 

Scattergood  loosened  a  sheet  of  paper  which  had  been 
lightly  glued  to  the  page.  "Hain't  got  my  specs,  Bob." 

The  young  lawyer  read  it,  re-read  it  aloud.  "  'I,  Farley 
Curtis,  one  of  the  two  legal  heirs  of  Solon  Beatty,  of  Cold- 
river  Township,  do  hereby  acknowledge  the  receipt  of 
ten  thousand  dollars,  the  same  to  be  considered  an  advance 
of  my  share  of  the  said  Solon  Beatty's  estate.  For,  and  in 
consideration  of  the  said  ten  thousand  dollars  I  hereby 
waive  all  claims  to  any  further  participation  in  the  said 
estate,  and  agree  that  I  will  not,  whether  the  said  Solon 
Beatty  dies  testate  or  intestate,  make  any  claim  against 
the  said  estate,  nor  upon  Mary  Beatty,  who,  by  this 
advance  to  me,  becomes  sole  heir  to  the  said  estate.' " 

Bob  drew  a  long  breath.  Scattergood  stared  owlishly 
at  Mary  Beatty. 

"Now,  what  d'you  think  of  that,  eh?  Shouldn't  be 
s'prised  if  that  was  the  i-dentical  paper  that  was  weighin* 
on  the  mind  of  young  Mr.  Curtis.  Shouldn't  be  a  mite 
s'prised  if  'twas." 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Baines?"  asked  Mary  Beatty.  "A 
will?" 

"Wa-al,  offhand  I'd  say  it  was  consid'able  better  'n  a 
will.  Ya-as.  .  .  .  Wills  kin  be  busted,  but  this  here  docy- 
ment — I  calc'late  it  would  take  mighty  powerful  hammer- 
in'  to  knock  it  apart." 

"And,  Mary,"  said  Bob,  "if  I  were  you  I  shouldn't 
mention  the  finding  of  it." 

"Not  to  a  soul,"  said  Scattergood.  "We'll  take  it 
mighty  soft  and  spry  and  shet  it  up  hi  Bob's  safe.  .  .  . 
Anybody  know  the  combination  to  it  besides  you,  Bob?" 

"Nobody  but  you,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Oh,  me! ...  To  be  sure,  me." 

"And  Miss  Pound." 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        291 

"Urn! . .  .  Sairy,  eh?     Course Sairy." 

Within  twenty-four  hours  everybody  in  Coldriver  knew 
a  paper  of  great  significance  had  been  discovered  affecting 
the  heirs  to  Solon  Beatty's  estate,  and  that  the  paper  was 
locked  in  Bob  Allen's  safe.  Bob  had  not  talked;  Scatter- 
good  certainly  had  been  silent,  and  Mary  Beatty  solemnly 
averred  that  no  word  had  passed  her  lips.  Yet  the  fact 

was  there  for  all  to  contemplate Farley  Curtis  devoted 

an  entire  day  to  the  contemplation  of  it  hi  his  room  at 
Grandmother  Penny's.  .  .  .  That  evening  he  invited  Sarah 
Pound  to  drive  with  him.  She  found  him  a  delightful  and 
entertaining  companion. 

Sunday  was  still  two  days  away  when  Bob  looked  up 
from  his  desk  to  say  to  Sarah:  "This  Beatty  matter  has 
kept  us  so  busy  there  hasn't  been  any  time  for  pleasure. 
You  must  be  tired  out,  Miss  Pound.  Wouldn't  you  like 
to  start  early  Sunday  and  drive  over  to  White  Pine  for 
dinner — and  come  back  after  the  sun  goes  down?  It's  a 
beautiful  drive." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Sarah,  flushing  with  a  feeling  that  was 
akin  to  guilt,  "but  I  am  engaged  Sunday." 

Bob  turned  again  to  his  work,  cast  into  sudden  gloom, 
and  wondering  jealously  what  was  Sarah's  engagement. 
Sarah,  not  altogether  easy  in  her  mind,  nor  wholly  pleased 
with  herself,  endeavored  to  justify  herself  for  being  so 
lightly  off  with  the  old  and  on  with  the  new.  .  .  .  She 
compared  Bob  to  Farley  Curtis,  and  found  the  comparison 
not  in  Bob's  favor.  Not  that  this  was  exactly  a  justifica- 
tion, but  it  was  a  salve.  Sarah  was  in  the  shopping  period 
of  her  life — shopping  for  a  husband,  so  to  speak.  She  was 
entitled  to  the  best  she  could  get  ...  and  Bob  did  not 
seem  to  be  the  best.  Farley  was  sprightly,  interesting, 
with  the  manners  of  a  more  effete  world  than  Coldriver; 
Bob  was  awkward,  ofttimes  silent,  lacking  polish.  Farley 
was  solicitous  in  small  matters  that  Bob  failed  utterly  to 


292  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

perceive;  Farley  was  always  skilled  in  minute  points  of 
decorum,  whose  very  existence  was  unknown  to  Bob.  In 
short,  Farley  was  altogether  fascinating,  while  Bob,  at 
best,  was  commonplace.  Yet,  not  in  her  objective  mind, 
but  deep  in  her  centers  of  intuition,  she  was  conscious  of 
a  hesitancy,  conscious  of  something  that  urged  her  toward 
Bob  and  warned  her  against  Farley  Curtis. 

On  Sunday  Bob  saw  Sarah  drive  away  with  Curtis — 
and  spent  a  black  day  of  jealousy  and  heartburning. 
During  the  succeeding  two  weeks  he  spent  many  black 
days  and  sleepless  nights,  for  Curtis  monopolized  Sarah's 
leisure,  and  Sarah  seemed  to  have  thrown  discretion  to  the 
winds  and  clothed  herself  against  fear  of  Coldriver's  gos- 
sip, for  she  seemed  to  give  her  company  almost  eagerly  to 
the  stranger.  .  .  .  And  Coldriver  talked. 

Bob  spoke  bitterly  of  the  matter  to  Scattergood. 

"Um!  ..."  grunted  Scattergood,  "don't  seem  to  recall 
any  statute  forbiddin'  any  young  feller  to  git  him  any  gal 
he  kin.  Eh?" 

"No.  But  this  Curtis — there's  something  wrong  there. 
He  isn't  intending  to  play  fair.  .  .  .  I —  He's  got  some 
kind  of  a  purpose,  Mr.  Barnes." 

"Think  so,  eh?  What  kind  of  a  purpose?"  Scatter- 
good  had  his  own  ideas  on  this  subject,  but  did  not  dis- 
close them.  It  was  in  his  mind  that  Curtis  cultivated 
Sarah  because  of  Sarah's  propinquity  of  a  certain  paper 
which  the  man  had  reason  to  believe  was  in  Bob  Allen's 
safe. 

Bob's  face  was  set  and  stern,  granite  as  the  hills  among 
which  he  had  been  born  and  which  had  become  a  part  of 
his  nature.  "If  he  doesn't  play  f ah-  ...  if  he  should— 
hurt  her  .  . .  I'd  take  him  apart,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Calc'late  you  would,"  said  Scattergood,  tranquilly, 
"but  there's  a  law  in  sich  case,  made  and  pervided,  callin' 
that  kind  of  amusement  murder.  ..." 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        293 

It  was  not  Scattergood's  custom  to  publish  his  emotions; 
nevertheless  he  was  worried.  He  appreciated  the  state  of 
mind  which  had  brought  Sarah  to  Coldriver — the  spirit 
of  restless,  resentful  youth,  demanding  the  world  for  its 
plaything.  He  knew  Sarah's  high  temper,  her  eagerness 
for  adventure.  .  .  .  He  knew  that  thousands  of  girls  before 
her  had  been  fascinated  by  well-told  tales  of  the  life  to  be 
lived  out  in  the  world  of  cities,  of  wealth,  of  artificial 
gayeties  .  .  .  the  lure  of  travel,  of  excitement.  .  .  .  And 
Scattergood  did  not  covet  the  duty  of  carrying  a  woeful 
story  to  old  Nahum  Pound,  the  gentle  schoolmaster. 

His  uneasiness  was  not  decreased  by  a  bit  of  unpre- 
meditated eavesdropping  that  fell  in  his  way  the  next 
evening.  .  .  .  Farley  Curtis  was  talking,  Sarah  Pound  was 
listening — eagerly. 

"You  can't  understand  what  living  is,"  the  man  was 
saying.  "How  could  you?  You  haven't  lived.  Here  in 
this  backwater  you  will  never  live.  .  .  .  You  move  around 
in  a  fog  of  monotony.  Every  day  the  same.  But  out 
there.  .  .  .  Everything!  Everything  you  want  and  can 
imagine  is  there  for  the  taking.  A  beautiful  woman  can 
take  what  she  wants — that's  what  it's  all  for — for  her  to 
help  herself  to.  Life  and  excitement  and  pleasure — and 
love  .  .  .  they  are  all  out  there  waiting." 

Sarah  sighed. 

"Did  you  ever  try  to  imagine  Paris,  London,  Madrid, 
Rome?"  he  went  on.  "You  can't  do  it.  ...  But  you  can 
see  them.  I — I  would  take  you  if  you  would  let  me  ... 
if  things  fall  out  right.  I'm  poor  .  .  .  but  with  this  Beatty 
money  I  could  take  you  anywhere.  It  would  give  us 
everything  we  want.  .  .  .  Half  of  that  money  belongs  to 
me  rightfully,  doesn't  it?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"But  I  may  not  get  it." 

She  was  silent. 


294  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

"There  is  a  paper,"  he  said,  "and  that  paper  may  stand 
between  you  and  me — and  Paris  and  Rome  and  the 

world "  He  paused,  and  then  said,  carelessly:  "Won't 

you  go  with  me,  Sarah — away  from  this?  Won't  you  let 
me  take  you,  to  love  and  to  make  happy?" 

Presently  she  spoke,  so  low  her  voice  was  scarcely 

audible  to  Scattergood.  "  I  don't  know I  don't  know," 

she  said. 

Scattergood  had  heard  enough.  He  stole  away  silently. 
The  tune  had  come  to  act,  if  he  were  going  to  act  ...  if 
no  woeful  story  were  to  be  carried  to  old  Nahum  Pound 
concerning  his  daughter.  He  might  even  be  too  late. 
.  .  .  The  lure  of  great  cities  and  foreign  shores  might  have 
done  its  work,  and  Farley  Curtis's  eloquence  have  served 
its  purpose. 

In  the  morning  Bob  Allen  was  early  at  his  office.  His 
first  act  was  to  open  the  safe  to  take  out  a  packet  of  papers 
he  had  been  laboring  over  the  afternoon  before.  .  .  . 
The  packet  was  not  where  he  had  placed  it  the  night 
before.  He  remembered  distinctly  how  he  had  shoved  it 
into  a  certain  pigeonhole.  ...  It  was  not  there.  He  found 
it  in  the  compartment  below.  .  .  .  Bob  was  not  easily 
startled  or  frightened,  so  now  he  paused  and  took  his 
memory  to  account.  No.  .  .  .  The  fault  was  not  with  his 
memory.  He  had  done  exactly  as  he  remembered  doing. 
.  .  .  Somebody  had  opened  that  safe  since  he  closed  it; 
somebody  had  fingered  its  contents.  .  .  .  He  caught  his 
breath,  not  at  the  fear  of  loss,  but  in  sudden  terror  of  the 
means  by  which  that  loss  had  been  brought  about,  the 
person  who  might  have  been  the  instrument.  .  .  .  Furiously 
he  began  going  over  the  contents  of  the  safe — money, 
securities,  papers.  Everything  seemed  intact.  But  one 
thing  remained — the  little  drawer.  He  had  put  off  open- 
ing that,  because  he  dreaded  to  open  it,  for  it  contained 
the  paper  that  excluded  Farley  Curtis  from  a  share  in  his 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        295 

uncle's  estate.  .  .  .  Bob  compelled  himself  to  turn  the 
little  key,  to  open  the  drawer.  ...  It  was  empty!  .  .  . 

Bob  walked  slowly  to  his  desk  and  sat  down,  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  safe  as  if  it  fascinated  him. .  .  .  Facts,  facts! 
His  soul  demanded  facts.  Those  at  hand  were  few,  simple. 
First,  the  safe  had  been  opened  by  some  one  who  knew 
the  combination.  Three  persons  existed  who  might  have 
opened  it — or  betrayed  its  combination:  Scattergood, 
himself,  Sarah  Pound.  .  .  .  Second,  he  knew  he  had  not 
opened  it  nor  betrayed  the  combination.  Third,  he  was 
equally  certain  Scattergood  had  not  done  so.  ...  Fourth 
— he  groaned!  .  .  . 

Bob  comprehended  what  had  happened;  why  Farley 
Curtis  had  wooed  so  persistently  Sarah  Pound.  It  was 
not  out  of  love  nor  desire,  but  for  a  more  sordid  purpose 
...  it  was  to  win  her  love,  to  blind  her  to  honor,  to  make  a 
tool  of  her,  and  through  her  to  secure  possession  of  that 
bit  of  paper  which  stood  between  him  and  riches. 

Presently  Sarah  Pound  entered.  Bob  could  not  force 
himself  to  look  at  her;  did  not  speak.  She  gazed  at  him 
curiously,  and  when  she  saw  the  grayness  of  his  face,  the 
lines  about  his  mouth,  and  eyes  that  advanced  his  age  by 
twenty  years,  she  felt  a  little  catch  at  her  heart,  a  breath- 
lessness,  a  sudden  alarm. 

"Miss  Pound,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  he  himself 
could  not  recognize  as  his  own,  "you  needn't  take  off 
your  hat.  .  .  .  You — you  actually  came  back  here!  You 
were  bold  enough  to  come  again  to  this  office.  ...  I  fancied 
you  would  be  gone — from  Coldriver."  His  voice  broke 
queerly.  "I  suppose  you  realize  what  you  have  done — 
and  are  satisfied  with  the  price — the  price  of  forfeiting  the 
respect  of  every  honest  man  and  woman  you  know!  That 
is  a  great  deal  to  give  up.  It  ought  to  command  a  high 
price — treachery.  ...  I  hope  you  are  getting  a  sufficient 
return.  .  ....It  means  nothing  to  you,  of  course,  but — I 

20 


296  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

loved  you.  I  thought  about  you  as  a  man  thinks  about 
the  woman  he  hopes  will  be  his  wife  .  .  .  and  his  children's 
mother  ...  so  it — pains — to  find  you  despicable.  ..." 

Sarah's  little  fists  clenched,  her  eyes  glinted. 

"How  dare  you?"  she  cried.  "What  affair  is  it  of  yours 
what  I  do?  .  .  .  You're  a  silly,  jealous  idiot."  With  which 
childish  invective  she  flung  out  of  the  office. 

In  an  hour  Bob  Allen  was  calmer,  and  so  the  more 
unhappy.  His  mind  cleared,  and,  being  cleared,  it  directed 
him  to  carry  his  trouble  to  Scattergood  Baines. 

"Urn!  .  .  .  Gone,  eh?"  said  Scattergood.  "Sure  it's 
gone?  .  .  .  Um! .  .  ." 

"Yes,  and  Sarah  Pound  will  be  gone,  too.  How  dared 
she  come  back  to  my  office?  .  .  .  Now  she'll  go  with 
Curtis." 

"Shouldn't  be  s'prised,"  said  Scattergood,  waggling  his 
head.  "I  heard  Farley  a-pointin'  out  to  her  the  dee- 
sirability  of  Paris  and  Rome  and  sich  European  p'ints  last 
night.  .  .  .  You  calc'late  Sairy  took  the  paper?" 

"What  else  can  I  think?" 

"To  be  sure.  .  .  .  Um!  .  .  .  Paris,  Rome,  London — 
might  be  argued  into  stealin'  it  myself,  if  I  was  a  gal. 
Um ! . . .  Ever  see  a  toad  ketch  flies,  Bob?  Does  it  with  his 
tongue.  There's  toad  men,  Bob,  that  goes  huntin'  wimmin 
the  same  way — with  their  tongues.  Su'prisin'  the  num- 
ber and  quality  they  ketch,  too.  What  was  you  plannin' 
on  doin',  Bob?  Goin'  back  to  your  office,  wasn't  you? 
And  keepin' your  mouth  shet?  Was  that  the  idee?  Eh?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do,  Mr.  Baines." 

"Didn't  figger  on  droppin'  around  to  Grandma  Penny's 
boardin'  house  about  eight  sharp,  did  you?  Eight  sharp. 
.  .  .  And  kind  of  settin'  down  quiet  on  the  front  porch? 
Jest  settin'?  Eh?  ...  G'-by,  Bob." 

After  Bob  left  the  store  Scattergood  sat  half  an  hour 
staring  at  the  stove;  then  he  left  the  store  to  its  own  de- 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        297 

vices  and  wandered  up  the  street  toward  Grandmother 
Penny's.  He  encountered  Sarah  Pound  as  she  came  out 
through  the  gate. 

"Howdy,  Sairy?"  he  said,  cheerfully.  "Havin'  con- 
sid'able  amusement  with  life — eh?" 

"I've  been  enjoying  myself,  Mr.  Baines,"  Sarah  said, 
making  an  effort  at  coldness  and  dignity. 

"Bet  you  hain't  enjoyin'  yourself  enough  to  warrant 
your  doin'  a  favor  for  an  old  feller  like  me,  eh?  .  .  .  This 
evenin',  for  instance?" 

"I — I'm  going  away  this  evening." 

"  Um ! . . .  Goin'  away,  eh?  Alone?  Or  along  with  some- 
body?" 

"That's  my  own  affair." 

"To  be  sure.  ...  To  be  sure,  but  the  train  don't  leave 
till  nine,  does  it?  Couldn't  manage  to  do  me  a  favor  at 
eight?" 

"What  is  the  favor,  Mr.  Baines?" 

"'Tain't  much.  Sca'cely  anythin'  a-tall.  I  calc'late 
to  be  a-settin'  in  Grandma  Penny's  parlor  at  eight  sharp. 
I  won't  keep  you  waitin'  more  'n  a  second — unless  some- 
body happens  to  be  with  me  a-talkin'  my  arm  off.  If  they 
hain't  nobody  with  me,  why,  you  walk  right  in.  If  they 
is  somebody,  why,  you  jest  stand  outside  of  the  door  a 
second,  and  they'll  be  gone.  Then  you  come  in.  But 
don't  come  rompin'  in  if  you  hear  voices.  It's  a  mite  of 
business,  and  'twon't  take  but  a  second.  Calc'late  you 
kin  manage  that,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"Promise?" 

•"Yes." 

"G'-by,  Sairy." 

At  five  minutes  before  eight  Scattergood  Baines  rapped 
at  Grandmother  Penny's  door  and  asked  to  speak  to 
Farley  Curtis.  "Tell  him  it's  somethin'  p'tic'lar  ree- 


298  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

gardin'  the  Beatty  estate,"  he  said,  and  stepped  into  the 
parlor.  Farley  appeared  almost  instantly;  dapper,  his 
usual  courteous,  self-possessed  self.  Scattergood  began  a 
peculiar  and  roundabout  conversation  after  the  manner 
of  a  man  who  fears  to  broach  a  subject  plainly.  Farley 
showed  his  irritation. 

"Mr.  Baines,"  he  said,  "suppose  you  get  down  to  busi- 
ness. I'm  going  away  this  evening." 

"To  be  sure.  .  .  .  To  be  sure.  It's  overlappin'  eight 
now,  hain't  it?"  Scattergood  paused,  listening.  He 
fancied  he  heard  some  one  approach  and  halt  just  outside 
the  door.  He  was  certain  that  a  chair  creaked  on  the  porch 
outside  the  window.  .  .  .  He  cleared  his  throat  and  drew 
a  big  yellow  envelope  from  his  pocket. 

"Calculate  I'm  ready  for  business,  if  you  be.  ...  Which 
d'you  calc'late  is  most  desirable — havin'  half  a  loaf,  or 
no  bread?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

' '  You  come  to  Coldriver  on  business,  didn't  you?  Money 
business?" 

"Why  I  came  is  my  own  affair." 

"Certain.  .  .  .  Certain.  .  .  .  But  things  gets  noised  about. 
Things  has  got  noised  about  concernin'  a  paper  that  stands 
betwixt  you  and  half  of  the  Beatty  estate.  Heard  'em 
myself."  Scattergood  waggled  the  envelope.  "I  hain't 
exactly  objectin'  to  makin'  a  leetle  quick  money  myself 
— supposin'  it  kin  be  done  safe,  and  the  blame,  if  they  is 
any,  throwed  somewheres  else.  .  .  .  Now,  Mr.  Curtis,  what 
kind  of  a  course  would  you  foller  if  that  paper  we  been 
talkin'  about  was  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  feller  that  felt 
like  I  do  about  makin'  money?" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Farley  demanded,  moving  for- 
ward eagerly  in  his  chair. 

"Hain't  good  at  guessin',  be  you?" 

"That  paper  doesn't  worry  me,"  said  Farley. 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        299 

"  Calculated  on  havin'  it  before  you  took  the  train 
to-night,  eh?" 

Farley  scowled. 

"Uh-huh!  .  .  .  Wa-al,  I  wasn't  seem'  sich  a  chance  to 
make  a  dollar  slip  by.  The  way  you  was  figgerin'  on  gittin' 
that  paper,  Mr.  Curtis,  won't  work.  I  know.  Uh-huh! 
I  know,  because  I  got  ahead  of  you.  I  got  that  paper 
myself.  .  .  .  And  we  kin  deal  if  I  kin  be  made  to  feel  safe. 
.  .  .  Most  things  leaks  out  through  wimmin.  .  .  .  Hain't 
mixin'  any  wimmin  into  this,  be  you?" 

"No." 

"Urn! .  .  .  How  about  Sairy  Pound?" 

Curtis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Calc'latin'  on  takin'  her  away  with  you  to-night?" 

"Not  now,"  said  Farley. 

"Seein's  how  you  can't  use  her  to  git  this  paper  for  you, 
eh?  That  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Calc'lated  on  marryin'  her,  didn't  you?" 

"Fiddlesticks!"  said  Mr.  Curtis,  harshly. 

"Understand  me,  I  hain't  takin'  chances.  ...  If  this 
gal's  mixed  up  in  this,  I  don't  deal." 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  man  who  would  let  a  silly,  backwoods 
idiot  of  a  girl  stand  between  me  and  money?  I'm  through 
with  her.  She's  no  use  to  me  now.  You've  said  that 
yourself. . . .  She's  nothing  to  me." 

"Good I  got  the  paper  right  here,  and  I'm  a-listenin' 

to  your  offer  for  it.  .  .  ." 

"Ten  thous — "  began  Farley,  but  a  swift,  furious 
thrusting  open  of  the  parlor  door  interrupted,  as  Sarah 
Pound  flung  herself  into  the  room.  For  a  moment  she  was 
speechless  with  rage.  .  .  .  Shame  would  come  later.  .  .  . 
"You  contemptible — contemptible — contemptible — "  she 
cried,  breathlessly.  "It  was  a  thing  like  you  I — I  could 
choose! ...  I  could  throw  away  a  man  for  you! .  .  .  For  a 


300  SCATTERGOOD  BAINES 

suit  of  clothes,  and  manners,  and  a  lying  tongue.  ...  I 
could  compare  Bob  Allen  with  you — and  choose  you!  . . . 
Oh!  .  .  ." 

"Sairy,"  said  Scattergood. 

"But  I  never  would  have  done  it — not  that.  I'd  never 
have  taken  that  paper.  .  .  .  You  know  I  wouldn't,  Mr. 
Baines.  Say  you  know  that.  .  .  ." 

"Wa-al,"  said  Scattergood,  dryly,  "they  hain't  no 
tellin'  how  fur  a  woman  '11  go  when  she's  bein'  bamboozled 
by  a  scamp — so  I  kind  of  insured  ag'in'  your  takin'  it  by 
takin'  it  myself.  .  .  .  Er — Mr.  Curtis,  if  I  was  you,  I'd 
sort  of  slip  out  soft  by  the  back  door.  Bob  Allen's 
a-waitin'  for  you  on  the  front  porch.  .  .  .  There's  a  train 
at  nine." 

Scattergood  put  a  clumsy  arm  about  Sarah,  who,  the 
moment  her  wrathful  energy  ebbed  away,  sobbed  and 
sobbed  and  sobbed  with  shame  and  fear. 

"Hey,  out  there,"  shouted  Scattergood,  "git  a  move  on 
you!" 

Bob  Allen  needed  no  urging.  His  arm  was  substituted 
for  Scattergood's,  his  breast  for  Scattergood 's — and  Sarah 
made  no  complaint.  "I  wouldn't.  ...  I  wouldn't.  .  .  . 
You  thought  I  did,"  she  murmured. 

"I  thought  that,"  said  Bob,  brokenly.  "How  can  you 
ever  forgive  me?  .  .  .  I —  But  I  love  you,  Sarah.  Won't 
that  make  up  for  it?  " 

"You — believed  it,"  she  repeated,  and  Scattergood 
grinned. 

"Dummed  if  she  hain't  managed  to  put  him  in  the 
wrong.  .  .  .  You  can't  beat  wimmin.  .  .  .  She's  put  him 
in  the  wrong." 

Scattergood  peered  at  them  a  moment,  saw  what  filled 
him  with  perfect  satisfaction,  and  discreetly  withdrew. 
He  went  out  and  sat  on  the  porch  and  beamed  up  at  the 
stars He  sat  there  a  long,  long  time,  and  nobody  called 


HE  TREATS  AN  ATTACK  OF  LIFE        301 

him  in.  He  got  up,  pressed  his  nose  against  the  window, 
and  rapped  on  the  glass. 

"Everybody  forgiv'  and  fixed  up,"  he  called,  "so's  I 
kin  git  to  bed  with  an  easy  mind?" 

There  was  no  answer.  He  had  not  been  heard — but 
what  he  saw  was  answer  sufficient  for  any  man. 


THE   END 


Variety  in  New  Fiction 

WHAT'S  THE  WORLD   COMING   TO? 

By  Rupert  Hughes 

This  story  of  turbulent  youth  caught  up  in 
the  maelstrom  of  New  York,  is  a  novel  of  to- 
day for  to-day — and  to-morrow — written  with 
compelling  interest  and  veracity. 

FuU-page  illustrations 

THE  BLOOD- RED   DAWN 

By  Charles  Caldwell  Dobie 
The  feeling  for  color  and  the  subtle  flavors  of 
character  that  Mr.  Dobie's  short  stories  are 
known  for,  distinguish  this,  his  first  novel — 
set  where  Orient  and  Occident  meet  in  the 
City  of  the  Golden  Gate.  Post  8vo.  Cloth 

LEERIE  By  Ruth  Sawyer 

For  the  last  two  years  Ruth  Sawyer  has  given 
her  readers  literary  treats  hi  her  stories  of 
Doctor  Danny.  And  now  comes  "Leerie,"  a 
young  nurse  who  was  so  engrossed  in  her  work 
that  she  almost  failed  to  marry  the  "finest 
gentleman  in  the  land"  when  he  came  along. 
Illustrated.  Post  8vo.  Cloth 

ALL-WOOL   MORRISON  By  Holman  Day 

Another  of  Holman  Day's  great  novels  of 
the  North  country — this  time  a  story  of 
politics,  love,  and  business,  set  in  a  prosperous 
New  England  manufacturing  town — a  novel 
that  like  its  hero  is  "all  wool  and  a  yard  wide." 
Frontispiece 

THE  THREAD  OF   FLAME  By  Basil  King 

In  "The  Thread  of  Flame,"  as  in  "The 
Inner  Shrine"  and  "The  Wild  Olive,"  Basil 
King  lifts  the  curtain  on  his  story  at  a  great 
dramatic  moment;  he  develops  a  fast-moving 
tale  of  a  lost  identity  and  of  a  resultant  do- 
mestic problem  that  keeps  the  reader  in  con- 
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Fiction  in  a  Lighter  Mood 

THE  CHARM   SCHOOL  By  Alice  Duer  Miller 

A  handsome  youth  of  twenty-five  inherits  a 
fashionable   boarding    school   for    girls    and 
decides  to  conduct  it  in  person.    This  story 
of  his  encounters  with  effervescing  "flappers" 
is  a  delicious  blend  of  romance  and  humor. 

Illustrated 

SKINNER   MAKES   IT    FASHIONABLE 

By  Henry  Irving  Dodge 

Never  did  the  impulsive  Skinner  get  a  bigger 
idea  than  this,  his  own  Skinneresque  method  of 
downing  the  H.  C.  of  L.  Once  more  gloom 
flies  at  Skinner's  approach  like  dust  before  a 
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EFFICIENCY    EDGAR 

By  Clarence  Budington  Kelland 
The  doings  of  "Efficiency  Edgar"  will  be  rel- 
ished by  all  who  do  not  take  life  too  seriously. 
A  merry,  well-balanced  tale,  with  Edgar  as  the 
star  performer  in  courtship,  marriage,  and 
fatherhood.  Frontispiece.  Post  8vo.  Cloth 

DUDS  By  Henry  C.  Rowland 

Captain  Plunkett,  U.  S.  A.,  found  out  that  the 
word  "dud"  can  mean  more  than  just  anun- 
exploded  shell.  The  amazing  Miss  Melton,  the 
Sultana  diamond,  the  guileless  Olga  Karakoff 
....  DUDS!  A  whole  bookful  of  them,  in 
breathless,  glamourous  succession.  Post  8vo 

WHAT  OUTFIT,   BUDDY?        By  T.  Howard  Kelly 

Jimmy  says:  "This  ain't  no  war  book — 
nothin'  about  savin'  our  souls,  or  makin' 
the  world  safe  for  profiteers,  or  the  League 
o'  Notions  in  it — but  a  lot  about  the  helluva 
good  time  me  an*  O.  D.  had  just  the  same  as 
you  an'  your  Buddy." 

Illustrated.    Post  8vo.    Half  Cloth 

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Recent  Verse— for  Every  Mood 

THE  CHEERY  WAY:    A  Bit  of  Verse  for  Every  Day 
By  John  Kendrick  Bangs 

The  verse  of  John  Kendrick  Bangs  needs  no 
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DIANTHA  GOES  THE   PRIMROSE  WAY 

By  Adelaide  Manola  Hughes 

Vivid  dramas  of  a  woman's  soul  in  verse 
of  scintillant  beauty.  "Intense,  convincing, 
realistic,"  says  Edward  J.  Wheeler,  President 
of  The  Poetry  Society. 

BALLADS  OF  OLD   NEW  YORK 

By  Arthur  Gulterman 

In  this,  his  latest  book  of  charming  verse, 
Mr.  Guiterman  gives  a  new  and  whimsically 
delightful  interest  to  the  quaint,  historical 
side  of  Old  New  York.  The  book  is  sym- 
pathetically and  profusely  illustrated  in  pen- 
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MODERN  DANCING 
By  MR.  AND  MRS.  VERNON  CASTLE 
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In  this  manual  a  professional  golf  player  and  teacher 
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